


This Isn't a Simulation

by cmmcgee_writer92



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Character Death, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Fake Character Death, Filet that's "better than sex", Fix-It, Fluff, Happy Ending, Harry sings, Harry's a grandpa, Love Confessions, Mama Root and Mama Shaw, Marriage Proposal, Nightmares, Oscar Tango Papa, Piggyback Rides, Road Trip, Samaritan gets destroyed, Some Humor, Wedding, horse, non-canon, shoot, team machine - Freeform, this is gonna be a really long fic guys...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-07-17 23:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 90,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7289968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmmcgee_writer92/pseuds/cmmcgee_writer92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team Machine and a few old friends come together to destroy Samaritan. Once Samaritan is out of the way they go back to helping their numbers and things get a little more light hearted and fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 7,053+1

**Author's Note:**

> A fix-it-fic that picks up after Root finds Sameen in the Park after Shaw escapes Samaritan. I promise that Team Machine (Root, Shaw, Harold, John, and Fusco... oh and Bear of course) will survive (remember this for a later chapter). Things will start off kind of serious but once Samaritan is gone I plan to have things take a more fun and light hearted turn.

Sameen Shaw lies on her side, one hand tucked under her head and fingers of the other tangled with those of the woman whose arm is draped over her. She longs for sleep but remains wide awake, mind racing. “Root, are you awake,” she asks not expecting an answer. Cool air touches her back, no longer warmed by Root’s deep, even breaths; the breaths of someone slipping away into dream land.

“Yes,” Root says after a few seconds voice husky, thanks to exhaustion, and soothing. She waits, expecting Shaw to let her in on whatever is on her mind, but only silence passes between them. “What is it, sweetie,” she asks finally, sensing that something is bothering the woman lying beside her and anxious to help in any way she can.

Shaw takes a deep breath. “7,053,” is all she says before she falls silent again, deep in thought. A funny look forms on Root’s face and though Shaw can’t see it due to the darkness of the room and because her back is still to the woman, she still laughs quietly, imaging the visual display of confusion. “It’s the number of times I made love to you; 7,054 counting tonight.” She turns over onto her back and turns her head to look at Root staring back at her, head propped up with the aid of her elbow. As the ex-operative’s eyes adjust to the darkness, she can make out the confused look still on Root’s face and it’s just as she imagined only seconds before. She laughs again and tries to remember the last time she laughed and smiled as much as she has tonight. No particular date sticks out in her memory and all she can focus on is the events of tonight and the last several months. “The simulations I started telling you about in the park that Samaritan put me through when they had me. In every simulation, you and I made love.” She falls quiet again, watching as the confusion on Root’s face disappears and is replaced by an accomplished, almost cocky smile.

The smile quickly fades, replaced by worry and anger, Root’s mind focused on the hell the Samaritan bastards put Shaw through. She’s hungry for vengeance, wants to make them pay. But right now she knows that Shaw doesn’t need her running off to get revenge, not yet. For now, what Shaw needs is her friends, the people who have become her family, the people who love and care about her. She just needs them to be there for her while she heals, even if she doesn’t want to admit that even big, bad, tough Sameen Shaw needs time to heal. Root also knows that while revenge may be satisfying, it won’t take away all the pain and anger, it won’t change what they did to Shaw. She knows because she still has nightmares about watching helplessly as Martine points a gun at Shaw’s head, despite knowing that the bitch can’t ever hurt Shaw again after Root had the satisfaction of feeling the woman’s neck snap in her own hands. Martine is dead but the bad memories remain. “This isn’t a simulation,” Root reminds her, smiling again as she leans down and kisses Shaw.

“I hope not,” Shaw says and though there was some confusion when she was escaping, she knows now that this can’t be just another simulation. She knows because she can still feel the _4A_ scrawled on her arm in cold ink. She knows because as good as she felt with Root in the simulations, it never felt as good as it does now. Shaw knows it’s not just another simulation because there is no voice in her head constantly nagging at her, feeding her orders she doesn’t want to follow, some that she couldn’t. “They all ended the same way,” she says swallowing hard as she continues to think about the simulations. Root looks at her, quietly waiting for her to go on, though Shaw isn’t certain she should. “They were in my head. They kept telling me to take them to the Machine. They told me to kill Reese and Harold,” she’s quiet for a minute, watching Root watch her. “You,” she says sadly, averting her eyes for a moment. “And I pulled my gun on you every time, but I couldn’t do it… I couldn’t pull the trigger. I couldn’t kill you and every time I ended up turning the gun on myself instead because I couldn’t kill you and I just wanted it to end.” No tears dare to show themselves in Shaw’s eyes, but the emotion and pain is evident in her voice.

Root struggles to hold back her own tears, hating Samaritan more with every word that leaves Shaw’s mouth and she silently swears that, as soon as she gets the chance, she’ll kill them all for what they did to her beautiful girl. The number Shaw shared with her echoes in Root’s mind. 7,053, the number of times they tried to make her kill somebody she couldn’t bear to kill; the number of times Shaw turned the gun on herself to save Root’s life. Even with all the anger and hatred taking over every fiber of her being, she still manages one of her iconic, flirtatious Root smiles that are almost always followed by an overt come on and Shaw rolling her eyes and acting embarrassed, defensive, and even a little hostile in a desperate attempt to seem uninterested. “Is that your way of telling me you love me,” Root says half expecting the same old game.

This time Shaw doesn’t roll her eyes or make any attempt at appearing uninterested or annoyed, after all it’s a bit late for that now. Instead, a small smile works its way across her lips. “I never thought I’d ever say it and mean it. Hell, I never thought I’d even ever fall in love. And I’ve been denying it for so long, but… I do love you, Root.”

For a second, Root is genuinely shocked by Shaw’s words, and as they sink in she gives up her fight to hold back the few tears that beg to fall. But these tears aren’t angry tears or tears erected by the hurt she feels almost empathically. Instead, they are happy tears, joyful that words she never thought she’d hear from Shaw have reached her ears. “I love you too,” she whispers.

Shaw instantly feels like an immense weight has been lifted off her tired shoulders and for what she believes must be at least the hundredth time tonight, she smiles and reaches up to wipe the tears from Root’s cheeks. “Don’t get too sappy on me,” she says with a quiet chuckle before pulling Root into her, snuggling close and embracing the comforting warmth brought by the feel of the woman’s skin against her own.

 

*~*~*

 

Tired and fearful eyes stare back at Sameen from the mirror in the bathroom. For a second she’s worried that maybe this all has been just another simulation, but then she realizes that there’s still no computerized voice in her head nagging at her and that the only reason she’s standing her with cold water splashed on her feverish face is thanks to a nightmare that jolted her awake what feels like only minutes ago. A soft knock on the door startles her and she reaches to open it, finding Root sleepily staring back at her, and she wonders exactly how many minutes she’s been standing in front of the mirror lost in her own thoughts, prompting Root to feel the need to check up on her.

“I woke up and you weren’t there and your side had gone cold.” There’s worry in Root’s eyes and it’s clear that she’s struggling to fight the urge to pull Shaw into her as if she was worried she might have lost Shaw again so soon after finding her. “Are you okay?”

Shaw nods. “Just… had a bad dream.”

"Come back to bed and you can tell me all about it,” Root says taking Shaw’s hand and leading her out of the bathroom, back to the cool sheets that beckon to them both. They lie beside each other, face to face. “Tell me,” Root beckons anxious to know what nightmares plague the woman she loves and put a fear that won’t fade in the eyes of a woman who fears nothing.

At first Shaw shakes her head, eager to simply forget the dream and slip back into a deep slumber, but she knows Root isn’t one to let things go, especially when it comes to Shaw, and part of her wants to get it off her chest anyway. “Samaritan, they sent an agent after you,” she falls silent unwilling to go into any more detail.

What little she shares is enough for Root to figure out the rest and she pulls Shaw into a comforting embrace, letting Shaw feel her presence, reminding the woman that she’s right there beside her. Shaw welcomes the embrace, allowing her barriers to fall away once again, just for tonight.

 

*~*~*

 

The persistent ringing of Root’s phone and the monotone sound of the Machine’s voice in her ear, telling her who’s calling, drag the woman out of her slumber. “Yes Harry,” she says answering the phone.

“Good morning, Ms. Groves. Sorry to wake you, but I sent Mr. Reese to keep an eye on a number last night and I’m afraid I haven’t heard from him since. I was hoping you might lend detective Fusco and me a hand in locating him and making sure he hasn’t gotten himself into any trouble.”

Root lets out a deep but quiet sigh, eyes shifting to the woman beside her who pushes herself into an upright position and stares back at Root. “I suppose I could find some time in my busy schedule to help you find the big lug,” Root says.

“I do appreciate it, Ms. Groves. I’ll fill you in on the details when you get here.”

“Harold, there’s something I need to tell you,” Root says catching him before he has a chance to hang up, her eyes still lingering on Shaw who shakes her head, eyes slightly widened and pleading.

Finch waits a few seconds and when Root says nothing more he breaks the silence himself. “Ms. Groves, what is it?”

Root takes a deep breath before speaking. “Never mind, Harry. It can wait.” She hangs up before Finch can question her and sets the phone back on the nightstand beside the bed. “We’ll have to tell them you’re back eventually, Sameen,” she says looking back at Shaw.

“I know. I just… I’m not ready yet.” There’s a hint of fear and worry in Shaw’s eyes and though she tries to hide it, Root can see it and her own eyes soften in response.


	2. Wine, Scotch, and Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took me so long to post this update. Hopefully it won't be another month before the next update again. Hope you all enjoy.

John’s phone rings, adding to the already ridiculous number of missed calls. This time the relentless ringing wakes him up. He leans over the edge of the bed, grabs his pants and pulls the phone out of his pocket, feeling bad when he sees Finch’s name and realizes that he neglected to check in and that Harold likely spent the night awake and worried about him. The ringing stops before he can hit the button to answer and he lets out a deep sigh, rolling over onto his back and turning his head to look at the still sleeping woman beside him. The night before is a bit of a blur. He remembers Harold sending him out to keep an eye on a number and stopping that number from kidnapping Zoe Morgan outside her office. He can remember zip tying the perpetrator and stuffing him into the trunk of Zoe’s car and then reluctantly agreeing to head back to her place for a few drinks; her way of thanking him for saving her life, again. The rest he manages to put together without much effort.

After a few minutes he carefully pushes the sheets covering his bare skin aside, pulls on his clothes from the night before, and makes his way into the living room so he can call Finch back without waking Zoe.

Harold answers on the first ring. “John,” he asks.

“Yes Harold.”

“Thank Goodness you’re okay. Detective Fusco and I have been trying to get a hold of you all night. I was just about to send Root out to assist the detective with finding you.”

John feels bad again and he cringes slightly. “Sorry about that. I… got a little tied up with an old friend,” he says as he sits down on the couch in the living room.

“Oh? And which friend might that be?”

“Seems our number was a previous client of Zoe Morgan,” he says trying to remember everything she told him last night as she sipped from a glass of wine and he downed a few too many glasses of scotch. “Guess he wasn’t too happy with services rendered.”

“I assume you were able to stop him from carrying out whatever he had planned.”

“He’s tied up in the trunk of her car. Might wanna send Fusco over to pick him up from her apartment.”

“I’ll let him know. And John, I can’t stress enough how much I would appreciate it if in the future you did your best to remember to check in.”

“Yeah John, you don’t want to make papa Finch worry about you too much,” he hears Root’s voice replace Harold’s through the speaker.

“Finch, am I on speaker phone?”

“Goodbye Mr. Reese,” is the only answer Harold gives before hanging up. John lets out a quiet sigh and slides the phone back into his pocket.

He’s slightly startled when a cup of coffee appears in front of him and he turns and looks up at Zoe standing behind the couch. “How long have you been up,” he asks her accepting the cup of black liquid.

“Long enough to make a pot of coffee, obviously,” Zoe says moving around the couch and sitting down beside John, sipping from her own cup of bitter black caffeine. “Harold was worried about you,” she observes.

“Forgot to check in. Guess I got a little too caught up in the moment last night.” John smirks at her and swallows a mouth full of coffee. “He’s sending Fusco to pick up our friend in the trunk of your car.” He swallows another sip of coffee and then sets the cup on the table in front of him. “Should probably go check on him, before the sedative wears off and he starts making noise, if he hasn’t already.” His smirk turns into a small smile and he pushes himself up from the couch, takes the keys to Zoe’s car and leaves the apartment.

Zoe considers following him but focuses her attention back on her coffee instead after John is out of sight. She can’t help but wonder how he’d react if she confessed to him that she’d like more than just one night alone with him.

 

*~*~*

 

“Ms. Grooves, how long have you been standing there,” Harold asks turning to look at the woman behind him.

“Long enough,” Root says. “Guess you don’t need me to go track down the big lug for you after all.”

“It would appear not,” Finch responds and watches as Root wanders over to the bed where Bear lies and crouches in front of the dog.

Root thinks about Shaw as she pets Bear and after a few seconds she stands and turns to look at Finch again. “Mind if I borrow Bear for a bit,” she asks him.

“Can I ask what for?”

“Would be nice to have a little company at my place for a while,” Root says shrugging her shoulders, face especially innocent and eyes a little pleading. Harold thinks about it for a moment before he nods. “Thank you, Harry,” Root says with a smile. She grabs the leash and hooks it onto his collar. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” she says as she scratches between his ears. She grabs Shaw’s phone off Finch’s desk before she leads Bear toward the exit.

“What do you need that for,” Finch asks stopping Root in her tracks.

She doesn’t answer for a few seconds, searching her mind for an excuse. “I just thought it might help me find her,” she says finally shrugging her shoulders.

Harold has noticed the glow that seems to suddenly radiate from her and he’s noticed the brighter smile that he hasn’t seen leave her lips since she alerted him to her presence in the subway. Deep down he knows Root doesn’t need the phone to find Shaw and he knows exactly why the woman suddenly seems happier than she has since Samaritan took Sameen. “Root,” he says before she has a chance to make her way up the stairs. She stops and turns toward him again, waiting for him to go on. “You seem happier this morning, if you don’t mind me pointing out.”

The smile on Root’s face grows and she gives Finch’s words a little thought before she responds to him. “I guess I am,” she says once again thinking about Shaw. She can’t deny her elation over having Sameen back, alive and as well as can be expected considering what Samaritan put her through. “See you later, Harry,” she says before she leaves, anxious to get back to her apartment, back to Shaw.

 

*~*~*

 

Sameen emerges from the kitchen, sandwich in hand, when she hears the door to Root’s apartment unlock. She drops to her knees when she sees bear with Root, smiling as the dog runs across the small living room and practically pounces on her. She munches on the sandwich as she pets Bear and shares the last bite with him. “I missed you,” she confesses and kisses the top of Bear’s head and laughs a little when he licks her face.

“What about me,” Root says smile replaced with pleading puppy dog eyes.

Shaw looks up at her, mild annoyance written on her face, but the annoyance disappears after a few seconds and she smiles as she pushes herself up off her knees. “I guess I missed you a little too,” she says pulling Root into her and kissing her.

“We have an audience,” Root says when they separate, glancing at Bear. Shaw looks over her shoulder at the Belgian Malinois that stares up at them. He yawns after a few seconds and wanders to the couch, hopping up and making himself at home. Shaw looks back at Root, moves in to kiss her again but is interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. Root lets out an agitated sigh and reaches into her pocket, a small part of her tempted to let the phone drop to the floor so she can crush it with the heel of her boot. She hands it to Shaw instead. “Thought you might want this back,” she says.

Sameen takes the phone and almost tosses it aside when she doesn’t recognize the number on the screen, but her gut tells her it’s something important and she reluctantly answers. “Who is this?”

A familiar young, female voice answers. “It’s Gen.”

Shaw’s shocked for a moment when she hears the girl’s voice. “Gen? What’s wrong?”

“I was hoping you could come get me,” Gen says.

“From the school?”

There’s silence for a few seconds before the girl answers. “No. I… I left the school. I’m at a bus stop nearby.”

Root looks at Shaw questioningly as the woman lets out a deep sigh. “Gen, you have to go back.”

“I don’t want to. I don’t like it there and if you don’t come get me then I’ll just run,” the girl threatens prompting a second sigh from Shaw.

“What am I supposed to do with you after I come get you? You can’t stay with me, it’s too dangerous,” Shaw tells the girl feeling stuck between a rock and a hard place. The last thing she needs is a young girl somehow caught in the cross fire between her and her friends and Samaritan.

“I could help you,” Gen argues. “I won’t get in the way, I promise.”

There’s silence between them again as Shaw thinks it over. She knows Gen is just as likely to somehow get herself into trouble if she’s allowed to run off to who knows where. “Fine. I’ll be there shortly,” she says eventually deciding they’ll figure it out later. She hangs up and shoves the phone in her pocket.

“What was that all about,” Root asks her, concern in her eyes.

“A girl we helped while Harold had you locked up in that psychiatric facility. She was living with her dirt bag cousin and she thought she was a spy. She had a bunch of incriminating tapes with recordings from the Russian mafia and HR’s guys. I left her at a Fitzhugh Quinell Prep and gave her my number in case she ever needed anything. She ran off and now she wants me to pick her up.” Shaw runs a hand through her hair, unsure what do about the girl that she has somehow suddenly become responsible for, again. “She said if I didn’t come get her she was going to run. She’ll end up getting herself into trouble again and there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to save her next time.”

Root looks around her small, one bedroom apartment wondering what exactly it is they’re going to do with the girl once they pick her up. “Maybe Harry will know what to do with her,” she suggests.

Shaw scrunches her nose in response to the suggestion. Bringing Gen to Harold will mean letting him know that she’s back, and Shaw still isn’t sure she’s ready for the others to know yet. “She could crash on the couch for a day or two until we figure it out,” she recommends instead.

The idea of some kid hanging around her apartment, potentially coming between her and Shaw, doesn’t thrill Root but she nods in agreement anyway. She puts a comforting hand on Shaw’s shoulder and then grabs Bear’s leash, prompting him to hop off the couch anxiously, expecting a walk. “Shall we,” she says moving toward the door.

Shaw stares after her for a second, a large part of her wishing they could stay and pick up where they left off before the phone interrupted them. She nods eventually and follows Root and Bear out of the apartment. “Root,” she says as the woman sticks a key in the door to lock it. “No PDA.”

Root smiles as she locks the door but pouts when she turns to face the woman behind her. “Where’s the fun in that?” She can’t help but laugh quietly when Shaw rolls her eyes, takes Bear’s leash, and stalks off forcing Root to speed walk to keep up with her.

 

*~*~*

 

Reese looks around before he opens the trunk of Zoe’s car. Fusco looks at the still unconscious man inside with a raised eyebrow. “What did you give him and how much,” the detective asks.

John reaches for the syringe in the trunk beside the man, still half full. “Only about half,” he says holding it up for Fusco to see. “Not sure what it is,” he confesses, “some sort of sedative I guess. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

The detective sighs and checks the man’s pulse, relieved to find that he’s still alive. He shakes him, trying to wake him up, but the man doesn’t stir. “You want to help me with him,” he asks John, giving up on trying to wake the guy. The two of them lift the body out of the trunk and half carry, half drag him to Fusco’s waiting backseat. They slide him into the car, leaving him leaning against the opposite door. “You better hope he wakes up before I get him back to the precinct. Won’t be easy to explain why a suspect was knocked out with his own…” he looks at the syringe that John is still holding, “whatever that stuff is.”

Reese shrugs, “you could always take him to the hospital instead.”

“No way I’m babysitting an attempted murderer in a hospital for God knows how long.” They’re quiet for a moment, both staring at the guy. “You’re sure he’ll be okay?”

“Pretty sure,” John says and the guy slowly starts to come to as the words leave Reese’s mouth. “Good luck,” John adds before he turns to head back up to Zoe’s apartment.

Fusco watches him walk away and turns back to the man in the backseat of his car, struggling with his zip tied wrists behind his back. The detective slides into the front seat of the car, ignoring his passenger’s onslaught of insults. “You’re under arrest for attempted murder,” he says silencing the man.

 

John drops Zoe’s keys back where he found them. He turns to leave but she stops him before he can open the door and step out again. “John,” she says and he turns to find her standing across the room, hair wet and only a towel covering her bare skin. The sight makes him long to stay. He’d give just about anything to spend the day and another night with the woman, to have one more night without any worries, one more night that he can forget about the storm ahead, but he knows Harold’s waiting for him and that they have a job to do. “You weren’t planning on leaving without saying goodbye were you?”

Her voice invades his thoughts and he shakes his head and looks at her apologetically with a small smile. Silence settles between them, neither sure what to say. John breaks it eventually, “I should go. Harold is waiting.”

Zoe nods. “Don’t be a stranger,” she tells him and watches as he nods and slips out the door, her chance to speak the words that burn her lips once again gone.


	3. Little Spy

Gen practically runs to Shaw when she sees her approaching the bus stop. She stops for a second before she throws her arms around the ex-operative. “Who’s this,” she says giving Root a curious look after she pulls away.

“This is Root,” Shaw says and watches as Gen accepts the hand that Root offers with a smile. “And this is Bear,” she adds when the girl turns her attention to the dog. “Is this all you have,” Shaw asks tugging lightly on the backpack that Gen carries and the girl nods, still preoccupied with Bear. She lets the two bond for a minute before she urges them to move on. “We’re going back to Root’s apartment,” she says and Gen finally turns her attention away from the dog. Shaw takes off ahead of them, the girl and Root tagging along a short distance behind.

“You’re Shaw’s friend,” Gen observes.

Root thinks for a moment before she responds, smiling and tempted to let the girl know that she is indeed Shaw’s very special friend. She simply nods instead and they walk in silence from there, Gen occasionally glancing suspiciously between Root and Shaw, trying to figure the two of them out.

“You live together,” Gen asks Shaw when they finally reach Root’s apartment and the woman stares down at her, unsure how to answer.

“I have my own place,” she says. “I just haven’t used it in a while.” It dawns on her that she’s been gone long enough, without paying her rent, that the apartment is likely no longer hers.

“So you do live together?”

Root laughs as she unlocks the door and lets them in and Shaw glares at her as she walks past. “No. Some people took me and I didn’t get back until last night.”

“So you stayed here last night,” Gen pries.

“Why the invasive questioning,” Shaw asks looking at Gen and the girl seems to take the hint and wanders over to the couch, sitting down and grabbing the remote from the coffee table in front of her to put cartoons on the TV.

“She’s kinda cute,” Root says teasing Shaw as they slip away into the kitchen, “with her inquisitiveness.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, grumbles, and makes for the refrigerator, grabbing a beer. “You’re both a pain in my ass.”

Root smiles and wanders toward the woman. “Yeah, but I’m a pain in a good way,” she says wrapping her arms around the woman and kissing her.

For a moment, Shaw can’t help but smile, until she notices Gen poking her head in. “Knew it,” the girl says and disappears back into the living room. Root laughs and Shaw grumbles again, desperate for something stronger than hops.

 

*~*~*

 

John looks at the picture of the new number that Harold sent him and then glances around the small coffee shop where he uncomfortably sits alone. “Finch, our number hasn’t shown yet,” he says quietly.

“Her credit statement indicates she’s made a purchase there every week day morning for at least a month around this time.  Give it a few more minutes.”

A commotion outside the coffee shop catches John’s attention. A woman desperately tries to escape the grasp of a man who yells something John can’t quite make out. “Never mind Finch, I think I just found her and possibly our perp.” He gets up and pushes past the door, approaching the man and woman. “Mind if I butt in,” he says grabbing the man’s shoulder and forcing him to turn around. The guy swings at him but Reese dodges the blow and swings back, hitting the man square in the face. There’s a loud crack from the man’s nose and blood trickles down to his lip as he stares at John, bewildered and in pain. He takes off after a few seconds.

“Thanks, I think,” the woman says when the man is gone.

“No problem. It’s not really any of my business, but do you mind telling me what that was all about?”

The woman shakes her head, embarrassed. “He’s an ex that doesn’t seem to understand that he isn’t getting a second chance.”

John nods in understanding. “Seems like a real asshole,” he says and the woman confirms with a nod. “How ‘bout I buy you a coffee.”

The woman hesitates and then nods again and follows John back into the shop, thanking him when he holds the door for her. She orders first, some fancy drink with a more complicated than necessary name, and then he orders a simple black coffee for himself. They sit at a table near a window and John sips from his cup. “I’m Susan, by the way,” the woman eventually says with a smile.

“John,” Reese says and smiles back.

 

*~*~*

 

Root wanders out of the kitchen, back to the living room where Shaw flips through channels, stopping to check the news. That doesn’t have much to offer except gossip and sports. She moves on when she finds it no more interesting than the crap on any of the other limited number of channels. The news, or lack thereof gets her thinking. “You ever wonder how it is that what we do hardly ever seems to pique the interest of the media, unless shit really hits the fan. Nobody really knows how much we’ve risked and lost for them, except maybe those we’ve helped directly.” She looks up at Root and notices the gift she’s brought from the kitchen and it seems to lighten her mood a bit.

“Maybe it’s better that way,” Root suggests handing over the sandwich and an ice cold beer. “It’s your favorite: pastrami, extra yellow and spicy mustard, and more pepperoncinis than I ever want to expose my digestive system to.”

“No mayo,” Shaw asks before biting into the sandwich.

“No mayo,” Root confirms and plops herself down on the couch between Shaw and Gen. She snuggles into Shaw, prompting a smile and a giggle from the girl. Root pulls her phone out of her pocket and snaps a picture of the two of them, Shaw mid-bite. The ex-operative glares at her for a second before turning her attention back to her sandwich and Root laughs.

“Can I be in a picture with you guys,” Gen asks too interested in the two women to pay any attention to her silly cartoons once again playing on the TV. Root nods and Shaw rolls her eyes as the girl moves from the end of the couch to sit on Shaw’s lap and she and Root cuddle into the woman to snap another picture while Shaw desperately longs to be able to eat in peace.

Bear gets up from his spot at Shaw’s feet, tail wagging happily as he lets out an excited bark. Root pats her lap, urging him to hop up despite his size and he complies. Sameen grumbles as Root struggles to take a picture with all of them together. Bear grabs what little is left of Shaw’s sandwich out of her hands before he hops back to the ground and settles back around her feet. She looks down at him, a bit shocked and feeling a little betrayed. “I was eating that,” she says and he looks up at her, an almost apologetic look in his puppy dog eyes as he continues to chew the small bit of bread and meat he swiped.

Root and Gen laugh at the interaction between the ex-operative and the dog as Gen plops herself back at the other end of the couch, attention back on the TV. The smile on Root’s face fades after a few seconds when she starts to wonder how long this can last, happy nights together like this. She knows it’s only a matter of time before Samaritan strikes its next blow, and there’s no telling what the enemy A.S.I.’s next move will be or who might be taken out in the hail of bullets that will undoubtedly once again rain down on them. She glances at Gen and sees that she’s focused on her cartoons again. She turns her attention back to Shaw and slips her fingers between the ex-operative’s. 

Shaw’s gaze falls on her and for a moment she considers pulling away, still not used to showing affection, especially with an audience; even if Gen isn’t paying any attention to them. When she notices the sudden change in Root’s mood, she responds by closing her own finger’s over the woman’s instead. She can tell by the sad, worried look in Root’s eyes that something’s bothering her and Shaw is able to guess that it has something to do with Samaritan. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it… together,” she says and gives Root a reassuring smile.

“Can we order a pizza,” Gen asks suddenly, distracting them from each other and Root from her fear of what’s to come.

 

*~*~*

 

John waits until Susan is past the windows of the coffee shop before he gets up and follows her out. She walks with purpose and he trails her from a short distance, keeping a close eye on her as their conversation replays in his head, certain details sticking out more than others. She’s been hurt by a man who doesn’t understand that whatever there was between them is over. She’s also sick of being the victim; she made that abundantly clear to John while they talked over their late afternoon cup of coffee.

 _“Have you tried going to the police,”_ John had asked her as they sipped from their cups.

 _“They blew me off. They’re too afraid to go after a man with the kind of money Tom has,”_ she told him. _“I’ve been putting up with this for almost six months since I broke it off with him. I just couldn’t stand how clingy and possessive he was and he’d have these violent outbursts over the stupidest things. I got sick of living in his cage and always wondering when he’d finally snap at me they way I saw him snap at others. He did when I told him we were done. That was the first time he got physical with me. I left and he’s been chasing me since. Nobody who can help seems to care enough to, and I’m sick of running. So I guess now there’s only one thing left to do,”_ she told him between sips.

Now John isn’t sure whether her name came up because she’s the victim or if she might be the perpetrator, or maybe both. Eventually she cuts across the street, heading toward an office building and John doubts she’s headed for the building because she works there. He has to jog across the entrance to catch the elevator she gets on before the doors close.

She’s shocked when she sees him slip between the doors. “Are you following me,” she asks a little on edge.

He does his best to act surprised to run into her again. He smiles and shakes his head. “Here for a job interview actually,” he lies.

For a second he isn’t sure she’ll buy his fabrication, but eventually she nods, seeming to accept his excuse for being in the same place as her. “What floor,” she asks him finger lingering over the buttons.

John looks at the already highlighted button for the fourth floor. “Looks like you already got it,” he says and once again she looks a little skeptical.

“What a coincidence,” she says as her arm falls to her side.

Harold’s voice buzzes in John’s ear and he listens carefully as the man feeds him information and confirms his suspicions. “According to the information on the company’s website, Susan’s ex is an executive working in that building. It appears you may have been right about her being our perpetrator.” John can hear Harold typing away on his computer for a moment. “If you need a cover, there’s a Bradley Jefferson scheduled for an interview at four-thirty.” Reese glances down at his watch as the second hand hits twelve and the hour hand falls over four.

When the elevator comes to a stop John politely motions for Susan to get off first and she hesitantly complies. The woman behind a desk outside an office recognizes her and smiles. “You must be here to see Tom,” the woman says and Susan looks over her shoulder at John, eyes sad and apologetic, then looks back at the secretary and nods. “You can go on in,” the woman tells her and Susan pushes through the door of the office without a second thought. “What can I do for you,” the secretary asks turning her attention to John.

“NYPD,” he says pulling out his badge and flashing it at her as he walks past her desk and follows Susan into her ex’s office. She already has a gun out and pointed at the man standing behind a desk across the small room. “Susan,” John says and raises his hands when she spins on her heels and points the gun at him instead. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Yes I do,” she retorts. She doesn’t notice the badge he still holds in his hand.

“Seems a little counterproductive to get yourself thrown in jail for killing somebody who should be there instead, doesn’t it,” he says and it seems to make her think for a minute. She looks up at his raised hands and notices the badge and seems to change her mind.

“What else am I supposed to do,” she asks him, finally lowering her gun.

John lowers his hands and moves around her, reaching for his handcuffs. “I witnessed him harassing you earlier. I’ll testify in your favor, it should at least be enough to get a restraining order. If you testify that he hit you, it might get him a little jail time.”

Tom backs away from Reese and reaches into his desk, shaking his head. “No way am I going to jail,” he says raising a gun of his own and prompting John to forget the cuffs and draw his own weapon instead.

“Put it down, Tom,” John orders but the man shakes his head. “Look, if I shoot you it’s going to add to the pile of paperwork I have to fill out, so please don’t make me shoot you.” Instead of putting the gun down and surrendering, Tom pulls the trigger and the gun jams. “Well that’s lucky,” John says before shooting Tom in the knee, dropping the man to the ground.

“Mr. Reese,” Harold’s voice buzzes in John’s ear again. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, Finch. Our friend Tom could use an ambulance though.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Harold says.

John picks Tom’s gun up from the floor and handcuffs him. “Am I going to be in trouble,” Susan asks staring down at the gun she still holds. Reese looks up at her, glancing at her gun. He feels bad for her and he knows she doesn’t deserve to suffer anymore than she already has.

He approaches her and holds out his hand. “I’ll make it disappear,” he says and she hands the gun over.

“Thank you,” she says and John gives her a small smile.

 

*~*~*

 

Gen and Shaw both finish their third slice of pizza and go for their fourth. Root starts to wonder which of them will win their little competition to see who can eat the most slices from the large pizza, minus the piece that she managed to get to before they dug in. Her money is still on Shaw but so far the girl seems to be a worthy opponent. Her phone rings, pulling her attention away from the two of them. She looks at the time after seeing Harold’s name and wonders what he wants at almost seven at night. “What is it, Harry,” she says.

“Ms. Groves, I need your help. I received a phone call from Fitzhugh Quinell Preparatory School. We helped a young girl while you were at Stoneridge. Prior to our involvement, her living conditions were… less than satisfactory. I had her placed in the school and now it seems she’s gone missing. They informed me that she missed all of her classes today and that she wasn’t present for dinner and wasn’t in her room. I was hoping you might assist me in tracking her down.”

“Her name wouldn’t happen to be Gen, would it,” Root asks looking at the girl and pulling Gen and Shaw’s attention away from their pizza.

“Genrika, yes. How… how did you know? Did the Machine tell you?” He should be used to Root always seeming to have all the answers by now, but he isn’t.

Root hesitates to answer, looking from Gen to Shaw. She isn’t sure how she’s going to explain to Harold that the girl is with her without letting him know that Shaw is back. “What do I tell him,” she quietly asks Shaw, covering the mic on the phone with her hand.

Shaw lets out a deep sigh and looks at the floor for a moment. “Everything,” she says when she looks back up at Root, accepting that it’s time for the others to know that she’s back and finally certain that this isn’t just another simulation and that she isn’t the threat to them she thought she might be.

Root stares at her for a second and then nods. “She’s here, Harry… with Sameen and me.”

Finch breathes a sigh of relief. “Has she been with the two of you all day?”

There’s no shock in his voice over the news that Shaw is back and Root’s a little confused by the absence of surprise. “Since shortly after I got back this morning,” she tells him. It dawns on her that at some point he must have figured out on his own that Shaw was back, likely while they were talking in the subway earlier. “You already knew she was back?”

“I could see it in your eyes. There was so much light in them this morning. You’re happy when the Machine speaks to you, but you seem even more…” he pauses, searching for the right word, “euphoric when Shaw’s around. And I found it a little odd that you seemed to spontaneously decide to take both Bear and Shaw’s phone with you when you left.

“Is it that obvious,” Root asks with a smile.

“Exceedingly,” Finch tells her. “Might I ask how it is that Ms. Zhirova came to be under your care?”

Root looks to Shaw again. “I’ll let Sameen explain,” she says and hands the phone over. The ex-operative grumbles but takes the phone and wanders out of the room to tell Harold all about her return and all about Gen and the girl’s refusal to return to the school where they left her. Root sits beside the girl, petting Bear and trying to ignore Gen’s lingering glance as she munches on another slice of pizza.

“You love her, don’t you,” the girl observes forcing Root to turn her attention from the dog to Gen. She smiles and nods in response thinking of all the reasons she truly does love the woman. “She probably doesn’t always show it very well, but she loves you too. I can tell.”

“I know she does,” Root says smile widening. She glances toward the kitchen where Shaw slipped away to speak to Finch over the phone privately. “Sometimes, we try to hide our feelings, but we forget that our eyes speak,” she says looking back at Gen. “Even Sameen’s eyes.” Gen is quiet as she thinks about the words and when they sink in, she nods in agreement.


	4. Not Living, Just Surviving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically just my rewrite of 5.10. A lot of the dialogue, especially the bits that I really liked or thought were important from the episode, is the same... some of it reworded a bit.  
> The timeline has changed a bit. In the episode Shaw indicated that she'd been back for a week when they're at the safe house. In the fic she's only back for a few days.  
> Also... before anybody bites my head off... remember I did promise that at the end of this fic Harold, John, Root, Shaw, and Fusco would all be alive... I intend to keep that promise so keep that in mind ;).  
> Thank you all so much for all the kudos so far and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

_“Glad to see you back,”_ the waitress’s words echo in his head as Harold limps back to the subway, moving as quickly as he can. He knows he’s made a grave mistake; he can feel it in his gut. His suspicion is confirmed when his phone rings.

John’s voice is a little frantic as he speaks. “Finch, your number just came up. Where are you? You have to get somewhere safe.”

Harold casts his gaze toward the ground as he walks. Any chance there might have been of his friends surviving, however small, is likely now gone because of his carelessness. He wants to tell John to run and let him deal with whatever Samaritan throws his way on his own, but he knows John won’t listen. “Meet me at the safe house,” he says and hangs up. He calls Zoe, hoping that she’ll agree to take care of Gen, at least until they’ve taken care of Samaritan, perhaps longer if they don’t survive.

When he gets off the phone with Zoe he dials Root’s number as he makes his way down into the subway. “Ms. Groves, I’m sorry to call you so early, but I need you and Shaw to meet John and me at the safe house,” he tells her.

“What’s going on,” Root asks him as she and Gen work together to cook breakfast. She can hear the urgency in his voice.

“I’ll fill you both in when you get there,” he says as he wanders into the subway car.

“You’re closing our access to her, aren’t you,” Root says before Harold has a chance to hang up. “We finally had open access and you’re going to take it away, just like that.”

Finch lets out a deep sigh, wondering how on Earth she knows that he planned to close their open access today. “How could you have possibly known that I chose today, of all days, to close access to the Machine?”

“She predicts people, Harold. That’s what you built her to do and she does it well.” She’s quiet for a minute before she speaks again. “She respects your decision, Harry. But I can’t say that I agree. You know we’ll lose if you cut off our access to her. She’s a powerful ally, but you’re too stubborn and too stuck up on your high horse with your rules, that are going to get us and a lot of other innocent people killed, to see and accept that.”

“We’ve managed to live this long,” Finch argues.

“We aren’t living, Harry, we’re just surviving. We’re human, we aren’t perfect and at some point we’re going to make a mistake that’s going to cost us all.” She lets her words sink in for a moment before she continues. “You thought you might have to kill her again,” she says. “That’s why you didn’t give her a name or a voice. She’s your child, Harry. You can’t just let her die an unknown, un-mourned solider that simply fades into obscurity. It doesn’t have to end this way.”

Harold doesn’t say anything for a long time, Root’s words sinking in. Some part of him knows she’s right, but he refuses to admit it. “I thought that someday she might like to choose a name and a voice for herself. That’s why I never gave her either.” They’re both silent for a few seconds. “I asked Ms. Morgan to keep an eye on Genrika until things have settled down, assuming any of us make it out of this,” Finch says eventually. “You and Shaw can drop her off at Ms. Morgan’s apartment on the way to the safe house. I have no doubt the Machine will give you directions.” He hangs up and turns his attention to the monitors in the subway car. Root’s words about closing access to the Machine echo in his head making him second guess his decision, but he hits a few keys and locks them out of the system anyway.

 

“What was that about,” Gen asks looking up at Root.

“Nothing important,” Root tells the girl. She doesn’t want to drag Gen into their mess or put the weight of their situation on her shoulders.

“It sounded important,” the girl says and Root just smiles down at her and points at the bag of chocolate chips. Gen stares up at her for a moment, eager to know all the details about whatever is going on. When she knows she isn’t going to get an answer out of the woman she lets her shoulders slump forward and hands the bag to Root and they cook in silence.

 

 

Shaw can smell pancakes and it prompts her to force herself out of bed and wander into the kitchen in nothing but a black t-shirt and her underwear. Gen looks her up and down and scrunches her nose before shoveling the rest of her breakfast into her mouth and taking off for the living room. “Shit,” the ex-operative whispers and finds herself torn between returning to the bedroom for a pair of pants or staying to wolf down the plate of pancakes that Root sets on the table.

Root smiles as she looks over the woman and moves in for a quick kiss before she teases Shaw. “Did you forget we had a guest,” she says with a smirk and quiet laugh.

The ex-operative groans and shuffles back to the bedroom. She reemerges a few seconds later in a pair of sweatpants and sits down at the table. She stares at the pancakes with slices of banana and chocolate chips that have just started to melt. It makes her mouth water and she digs in without a second thought. Root sits across from her, watching her with a smile. “I didn’t know you could cook,” Shaw teases.

“Gen helped,” Root says and takes a deep breath as her smile fades. “We have to meet Harry and John at the safe house where they’re keeping Elias. We’re dropping Gen off at Zoe Morgan’s apartment on the way.”

Shaw looks up from her pancakes, eyes questioning. “What’s up?”

Root shrugs. “He didn’t say what was going on, just made it sound like whatever it is it’s urgent and said that he would elaborate when we get there.”

“That it,” Shaw asks. She can tell that something else is bothering Root, but the woman shakes her head. “Root,” the ex-operative says and stares at her as she slips the last of her pancakes into her mouth.

“We finally had open access to the Machine. We could have used her to our full advantage, but Harold closed off the access again. I don’t know how to make him realize that we would have a much better chance of succeeding, of destroying Samaritan and maybe making it out alive if he would allow us open access.” She has something in mind, something that might finally make Harold snap and forget his rules and be a little less high-minded so they might stand a chance to win. She doesn’t tell Shaw though and she doesn’t intend to let anybody else in on her plan either.

Shaw watches her for a moment and then hesitantly reaches across the table, placing a hand over Root’s. “We’ll figure it out and we’ll get through this… somehow,” she says and then pushes herself up and carries the dishes from the table to the sink.

Gen stands in the doorway, backpack ready to go. The two women look at her, eyes questioning. “I overheard you talking. You said something about dropping me off at somebody’s apartment.” The girl looks sad and Root and Shaw both know that she’d rather stay with them, help them out if she could. They both nod and Root gets Bear ready to go while Shaw gets changed and then they leave, unsure if or when they’ll return.

               

The girl doesn’t start arguing until they reach Zoe’s apartment. “I want to stay with you guys. I can help you and I promise I’ll stay out of the way.”

Shaw looks at the girl sympathetically and shakes her head. “Sorry kid, but it’s safer for you here. Zoe will take good care of you.”

The woman’s words set Gen on edge. They sound so final to her, like Shaw is just as convinced as she is that they won’t make it out of whatever fight the two women are headed into. “Promise me you’ll come back, for me.”

The ex-operative hesitates. She doesn’t want to make a promise she knows she may not be able to keep. Root saves her the burden. She smiles down at the girl as she speaks, “we’ll come back for you as soon as it’s safe,” she says and knocks on the door.

Zoe answers almost immediately. “You must be Gen,” she says and offers a smile and a hand that the girl reluctantly accepts. She motions the girl inside and steps out into the hall, closing the door behind her so she can speak to Root and Shaw at least somewhat privately. “Before he would let me agree to the arrangement, Harold made sure that I understood there was a chance it could become permanent, but he wouldn’t tell me exactly what was going on that it might turn out that way. I was hoping you two might be a little more willing to fill me in on what exactly it is you’ve gotten yourselves caught up in.”

“Wish we could, but there isn’t time,” Root says looking down at her watch. “It’s just… there’s a chance that we may not make it back from saving the world this time,” she adds quietly.

Zoe nods after a few seconds, accepting the woman’s answer, though it’s less than what she hoped for. She opens the door to her apartment again and Gen runs out, dropping to her knees and hugging Bear and then throwing her arms around Root and Shaw. “Please don’t die,” she says to them and Root finds herself fighting to hold back tears and struggling to hold her wavering smile.

Shaw’s heart breaks a little but it doesn’t show. She reaches into the pocket of her pants and pulls out the medal that Gen gave her before she left the girl at the school. She places it in Gen’s hand and closes the girl’s fist around it. “Hold onto this until I get back,” she says and pulls the girl in for what she fears may be one last hug. When she’s ready to break the embrace she has to push the girl away and Zoe wraps firm arms around her to hold her back as Root and Shaw walk away with Bear.

 

*~*~*

 

Finch is already at the safe house when John gets there. He jumps when he hears the door open but quickly calms down when he sees that it’s just John. His gaze falls back to the ground. “It seems my cover has been blown, since the Machine contacted you to let you know I was in danger.” There’s sadness in his voice and John can tell by looking at him and listening to him that’s he’s fighting an internal battle of some sort. “I should tell you to run, to get as far away from me as possible so you might have a better chance of saving yourself.”

Elias sits in the chair across from the couch where Harold sits. “You know none of us are going to turn our backs on you, Harold. We’ve been in this with you for too long and come too far to walk away and leave you to fight a likely unwinnable battle on your own.”

“He’s right,” John says closing the door. “Lionel is on his way and I assume you already contacted Root.

Finch nods. “She’s on her way with Shaw and I presume Bear as well.”

“Shaw’s back,” John asks.

“She’s been staying with Root for the last few days. I spoke to her on the phone last night. She told me she wasn’t ready for the rest of use to know she’d returned, because she was worried she might somehow be a threat to us. Samaritan put her through a lot.”

There’s a knock at the door before it opens and Root steps in, Bear at her side. “Shaw’s doing a perimeter check,” she says. She lets go of the dog’s leash when he starts in John’s direction.

“How is she,” Harold asks her.

“Better than she was a few nights ago.” She turns and smiles when the door opens again and Shaw slips in.

“There were two Samaritan agents outside,” Shaw says. She and John make brief eye contact and nod at each other before she hands a business card to Root. “One of them was carrying that.”

“Temporary Resolutions,” Root says reading from the card. “Sending hit men to kill people isn’t exactly temporary.” She lets out a deep sigh and passes the card along to John. “We have to get you out of here, Harry. If Samaritan knows we’re here then more agents will be coming.”

They’re all a little startled and turn to the door, weapons drawn, when it opens again. Fusco stops and stares back at them. “Yeah, I love you guys too,” he says as John, Elias, and Root all lower their weapons.

Shaw still aims her gun at the detective and Root looks at her with a little concern. She can see that the woman is on edge, they all are. She pushes Shaw’s arm down and walks her toward a table loaded with guns and ammo. “It’s okay, sweetie,” Root says. “We’ll go shoot some people and then you’ll feel better.” Shaw nods as she looks over the weapons.

“Lionel and I will go check out this Temporary Resolutions. We have a chance to track them down; we might as well try getting to them before they get to us,” John says as he loads up a bag with a few guns and grenades and some extra ammo. He glances at Harold before he leaves with the detective and gives the man a small smile when he sees the worry still written all over his face. “We’ll be fine, Finch,” he says.

Harold nods and watches as the two men leave, taking Bear with them. “We should go too,” Elias says and Harold shakes his head and parts his lips to argue but Elias stops him before he can say anything. “Don’t try to argue with me, Harold. I meant what I said.” He smiles and nods his head toward the door. “Come on. I know some place where we’ll be safe at least for little while.” Harold reluctantly nods and the two leave Root and Shaw alone.

“I have to make a phone call,” Root says. She places a hand on Shaw’s shoulder and smiles at her before she steps out into the hall, the Machine buzzing in her ear and feeding her information. She dials the phone number she’s given and waits for an answer. “Jeffery Blackwell,” she says. “The company you’ve been working for hasn’t been completely honest with you and I thought maybe it was time you knew the truth in exchange for a favor and a chance to save yourself from one of my… colleagues tracking you down to kill you.”

Jeff doesn’t say anything; he just listens as the woman speaks and he thinks he recognizes her voice but he can’t quite place it. He’s a little shocked by some of what she tells him but most of the information she gives him only serves to confirm what he’s already begun to suspect. “How will I know when and where and exactly what to do,” he asks once she’s done telling him everything he needs to know.

“A friend of mine will contact you with more details. Just do exactly what she tells you,” Root says and hangs up. Shaw’s sitting on the couch with her head in her hands when Root steps back in from the hall. She sits down beside the ex-operative and they’re silent until Shaw finally decides to say what’s on her mind.

“Do you ever wish we could go back and start over? I mean, do any of us really have the lives we truly want?” She keeps her gaze pointed at the floor and waits for a response. Root doesn’t say anything, because as shitty as things may be now, she still wouldn’t change it for the world. She has Shaw now and that’s all she could ever want. The ex-operative looks up at her when she doesn’t say anything. “Root,” Shaw says. She can see in her eyes that there’s something on her mind, something she wants to say.

Root glances up at the ceiling and takes a deep breath, eyes moist with tears that she fights to hold back. “I’ve been hiding for a long time,” she says when she looks back at Shaw. “And now, with Harry and John,” she pauses for a second, staring into brown eyes that say so much and she smiles, “and you, I finally feel like I belong. And I’m scared of what might happen; I’m scared I might lose you again so soon after finding you, but as long as you’re here, as long as I have you, I feel like I’m home and I wouldn’t change that for anything.” She slips her hand into Shaw’s and the ex-operative lets Root’s words sink in for a minute before she leans in and kisses her.

They’re forced apart when they hear the screech of tires in the street. Shaw gets up and goes to the window to look down at the Samaritan agents as they hop out of a black SUV. “Guess it’s time to kick some more Samaritan ass,” she says as they grab a couple guns from the table and prepare for the fight ahead.

“If we get out of here,” Root says as they head for the door. “We have to make a stop at the precinct. There’s something I need to pick up.” Shaw gives her a strange look and then nods as they make their way out into the hall, taking down Samaritan agents as they make their way down to the street.

 

*~*~*

 

Harold sticks his hand in his pocket and pulls out the matchbook. It’s his fault that his cover is blown and if his friends die trying to protect him then that’ll be his fault too. He regrets dragging any of them into his world and the mess that he keeps managing to make bigger. He drops the memento back in his pocket when he hears tires screeching and gun shots outside. “How long can your men hold them off,” he asks Elias.

“Long enough for us to get out of here,” Elias tells him. He grabs his gun and the two of them head out into the hall and toward an elevator. When the door opens there are two dead Samaritan agents on the floor and two of Elias’ men at the back. “Come on, Harold,” Elias says motioning for him to get in the elevator when he hesitates. He complies and they ride down to the ground floor.

There are more agents when the doors open and Elias’ men sacrifice themselves, managing to get off a few shots while Finch and Elias take cover. Their path is cleared by a man in a janitor’s uniform and they hurry out to a waiting car. When Elias opens the passenger side door he finds his driver dead and he quietly curses before he urges Harold to get in and starts to work his way around to the driver’s side. His gut tells him to glance back up toward the apartment they came out of. The agent that emerges there raises a gun and he and Elias both fire at the same time. They both drop to the ground, Elias with a gunshot wound to the chest.

Harold looks down at Elias’ body as another car pulls up and more Samaritan agents hop out and grab him. Another friend dead and it’s all his fault. He goes willingly with the Samaritan agents because he knows he can’t fight back on his own and he wonders if maybe it might give the friends he has a left a better chance at surviving.

 

*~*~*

 

John tosses a grenade and the two Samaritan agents in its path dive out of the way but not quick enough. He and Lionel gather up what ammo they have left and head outside. The scanner in Fusco’s car crackles to life and a dispatcher relays information about a shoot out at the Double B High Rises. “Finch,” John says as they get in the car. He knows that the High Rises must be where Elias took Finch in his attempt to protect him.

Lionel starts the car and takes off. He doesn’t slow down until they reach the scene. They both duck under the police tape blocking off the area and approach an officer standing near a puddle of blood. “What happened,” Fusco asks the young officer.

“Some kind of shoot out. We’ve got several people dead and one taken to the hospital with a GSW to the chest. Doesn’t look good,” the officer tells them.

John knows that Samaritan must have found them and he knows they’ve taken him. His suspicion is confirmed when a kid on the other side of the tape calls out that he has something to show them. Reese looks down at the picture on the kid’s phone of a license plate on the back of a black car. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls Root. “They have Finch,” he says when she answers.

 

*~*~*

 

Root’s on her way out of the precinct, Kevlar vest in hand, when her phone rings. She isn’t shocked when John tells her that Samaritan managed to get their hands on Harry. “I already know,” she tells him.

“How?”

“She told me,” She says referring to the Machine. “Shaw and I are on our way to his location. We’ll call you when we have him.” She hangs up and hands the vest over to the ex-operative leaning against the car they swiped off the street outside the safe house. “Put this on and get in. Samaritan has Harry,” she tells Shaw as she slides back into the passenger seat.

Shaw pulls the vest on and ducks back into the driver’s seat. “What about you,” she asks when she looks at Root and realizes that she isn’t wearing a vest of her own, at least not that Shaw can see.

“Don’t worry about me,” Root tells Shaw and gives her a reassuring smile. She gives Shaw directions as the Machine relays them to her, hoping that they manage to get to Harry in time.

 

*~*~*

 

Finch glares at Greer when he gets out of the car after it comes to a stop in a parking garage. He cuts right to the chase, not giving Greer the opportunity to get a word in first. “You might as well just kill me now, because I have no intention of giving you the location of the Machine or the few friends I have left that haven’t yet been murdered by your agents.” His anger and irritation are evident in his voice and show on his face, but it doesn’t seem to faze Greer.

The man smiles, even chuckles a little as he stares back at Finch. “That’s mighty valiant of you, Harold, but Samaritan doesn’t want you dead.”

               

“Then why am I here,” Finch asks.

“Samaritan needs your help, Harold. Perhaps not today, but one day you will work for Samaritan, by choice.” Greer gives his men the command to take Finch away. They lead him outside and he climbs into an SUV as Root and Shaw fly around the corner in their stolen car.

 

*~*~*

 

John sits in the passenger seat of Lionel’s car, phone in hand waiting for Root to call him and let him know that Finch is safe. Fusco stares at him for a few seconds. He can see that Reese is worried about Harold and he offers a few reassuring words. “Don’t worry, Glasses is in good hands with Cocoa Puffs and Miss Congeniality.”  Reese smiles a little in response to Fusco’s nicknames for the women but he isn’t any less worried.

“We can’t just sit here,” Reese says after a few minutes of silence pass between them.

“What else can we do,” Fusco says and they’re quiet again until it occurs to the detective that he still isn’t completely sure what exactly it is that he’s been roped into. “While we wait for Banana Nut Crunch to call you back, why don’t you fill me in on exactly what I’m in involved in with you Loony Toons.”

John wants to explain but he doesn’t even know where to start. “Our machine isn’t the only one anymore, Lionel,” he says. “There’s another system called Samaritan and it seems hell bent on being the only of its kind.”

“There’s another group out there just like you guys, only they’re bad guys,” Lionel says putting the pieces together on his own now.

“Yeah, and they’re a lot bigger than we are,” John says with a sigh. Fusco shakes his head as it all sinks in. “Sure you still want to stick around and throw yourself into the middle of our crossfire?”

“I should probably be committed for saying it, but there’s no way I’m backing out now. I’ve come too far with you crazies to walk out on you now,” the detective says and a small smile forms on John’s face.

 

*~*~*

 

Shaw glances at Root as they take cover behind another car closer to their targets. “You pick the strangest times to flirt,” she says in response to a spontaneous and philosophical speech about shapes and the world being a simulation. Though she won’t admit it, it does make her feel a little better, mostly because she’s comforted by the familiarity of Root’s shameless flirtation despite the world starting to crash around them.

“I know,” Root says and they both stand to fire off a few shots, forcing the remaining Samaritan agents back behind cover, before they duck back down again. “All I’m saying is that if all we are is noise in the system, we might as well be a symphony.” They stand again and take out the remaining Samaritan agents. Root runs to the SUV to get Harold and he reluctantly climbs out. He picks up his pace when another SUV rounds the corner, mounted with an M134 minigun.

Shaw gives them cover fire as Root and Finch run for their car. “Sameen,” Root calls before she slides into the driver’s seat. Shaw waves her off, encouraging her to go and get Finch to safety. “I’m not leaving you again, Sameen,” Root says.

“Just go, I’ll be fine,” Shaw says and Root reluctantly gets in the car and drives off. The ex-operative drops the empty magazine out of her submachine gun and puts another in, emptying it into the SUV as it speeds off after Root and Finch. She tosses the gun aside and searches the body of a Samaritan agent, near the SUV they had Finch in, for the keys to the vehicle and takes off after she finds them.

 

*~*~*

 

Heavy traffic over the scanner in Fusco’s car gets John and the detective’s attention. They listen to the radio traffic: reports of gun fire and two vehicles being driven erratically. The dispatcher relays information about a road block and Fusco starts the car and heads for the location given for the road block, because they know it must the others.

The sun is starting to set and it’s too late when they get there. They watch as Harold is cuffed, put in the back of a police car, and carted away. They look around for Root but there’s no sign of her. John pulls an officer aside. “What’s going on,” he asks.

“Male and female involved in some sort of car chase and a shootout. The male’s in custody. The woman was taken to the hospital with a gunshot wound to the abdomen.”

“How is she?” The officer shrugs in response to John’s question. “Find out,” Reese demands.

The officer sighs and speaks into the mic of his radio, asking for an update on the woman involved in the shootout and car chase. “She’s in critical condition,” he says sharing the update with John and Fusco.

They both do their best not to react but their hopeful faces grow weary with the news. John sees Shaw fighting to get into the scene she’s blocked from by police tape and a couple officers threatening to place her under arrest if she doesn’t calm down. “We’ll take her,” John says as he and Fusco duck under the tape and pull Shaw away.

“I saw them take her away. We have to get to the hospital,” Shaw says.

John doesn’t tell her what the officer told him. He just looks at her with a sad look in his eyes because he knows the outcome isn’t likely to be good. “What else did you see,” he asks her.

“They were being chased by a couple Samaritan agents in an SUV mounted with a minigun. I don’t know how, but somehow she must have managed to take them out. Then there was a gunshot and the car swerved, they kept going a little further until they hit the road block. They wouldn’t let me near them.”

John lets out a deep sigh and does his best to tell Shaw a convincing lie. “They took her to the hospital, Shaw. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” He doesn’t believe the last words as they leave his mouth and he can see from the fear in her eyes that she tries desperately to hide that she doesn’t believe it either. “Right now we have to focus on getting Finch out of jail.”

“I’ll go to the hospital,” Fusco offers and John nods.

“Meet us back at the subway,” John tells Fusco as they walk back to the detective’s car. Lionel gives Shaw a reassuring smile as he opens the back door and lets Bear out and then leaves Reese and Shaw on their own to track down Finch.


	5. A Familiar Voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anybody is who interested... I had Track and Field's cover of Running up That Hill on repeat while writing this chapter
> 
> And another reminder that I did promise that at the end of this fic Harold, John, Root, Shaw, and Fusco would all be alive... I intend to keep that promise so keep that in mind and please don't bite my head off because some things are not as they appear ;)

The lights go out and Harold hesitantly hooks the phone receiver back on its base. He feels along the wall until the backup lights come on, lighting his way out of the prison. Realization really starts to hit as he makes his way toward the fence and slips out. The Machine took Root’s voice; he knows that means she’s gone. Another friend taken from him, another friend killed right before his eyes. It makes him angry and as he limps along, desperate to get back to the subway and out of sight, he decides he’s had enough. He no longer needs to think things over and make a decision about whether or not he will continue to play by his own rules. The decision has been made for him. It’s clear to him now that he can’t play by those rules, because all they’ve done is get the people he cares about killed.

He hails a cab, slides in the back, and tells the cabby to drop him off at an address a couple blocks from the entrance to the subway. The cost of the ride takes almost all of what little money he has in his pocket and when he gets out of the car he takes the time it takes to walk the last couple blocks to think about what his next move will be, and how he intends to break the news of Root’s death to the others, especially Shaw. His phone starts ringing on his desk as soon as he hits the bottom step of the platform. He’s sees Fusco’s name on the screen and it makes him feel even worse, because he knows the detective is calling to confirm what Harold already knows.

 

*~*~*

 

Fusco looks at the cold body on the metal slab. He averts his eyes after no more than two or three seconds, unable to really look at her, lying there lifeless. He tells himself it’s definitely her and pushes away the voice in his head demanding he look again and look closely. The voice is only there because even he doesn’t want to believe that she could truly be gone. He thinks about Shaw. Though the ex-operative may have tried her best to hide it, he knows there was something between them and he knows this news is going to tear Shaw to pieces.

The detective glances at the morgue attendant and nods, giving him the confirmation he waits for. He takes a deep breath and as he turns to leave he starts to wonder if they can beat Samaritan without her. He quickly tells himself they can, but he doesn’t really believe it. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket as he walks out of the morgue and into the night, hoping Finch has managed to find a way out of his predicament. He lets out a sigh of relief when Harold answers the phone. “I’m sorry,” is all he manages to say.

“I already know,” Harold says and there’s a mixture of sadness and anger in his voice. He’s had enough and he’s close to snapping because he can’t handle losing one more friend to Samaritan’s hand; he can’t handle losing one more of his friends at all. “You know where to find us,” he says and hangs up.

Fusco sends a text to John and lets out a deep sigh before he slips his phone back in his pocket. He glances up at the sky for a moment, searching for something, though he isn’t sure exactly what; perhaps some deity to show their face so he can ask why the people they care about keep being stolen away from them. His gaze falls back toward the ground as he slides into his car, knowing no deity is going to appear in the sky to answer his question, that the only God that can give him the answers he seeks is the Machine and he isn’t even completely sure about that anymore.

 

*~*~*

 

What’s left of Team Machine stands in the subway. John, Fusco, and Harold all stare at Shaw, undecided which of them will be the one to break the news, which of them will volunteer to make themselves the target of Shaw’s rage. Not only will she be upset about Root, she’ll likely also be upset that she’s the last to know. “Why are you all staring at me,” she asks. “What’s going on? Where’s Root? Is she still at the hospital? I could do a better job of patching her up here.” Nobody answers her questions, they just keep staring at her and it’s starting to creep her out a little and really annoy her. “Will somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on.” Her eyes graze over each of them, stopping on Finch: her boss, her friend, the man who has become almost like a father to her, John, and even Root. “Harold,” she says, voice pleading.

A deep and sad sigh slips from between Harold’s lips. He knows he has been chosen, that the burden of breaking Shaw has fallen on him. He licks his dry lips, desperately wishing for John or Fusco to speak before he does, but they don’t. “Sameen, I… I’m so sorry. Root didn’t make it.” The words burn his lips like poison as they leave and he hates them.

For a moment there is no reaction and the place is silent except for a sad whimper that Bear lets out as he lies on his bed, head rested despondently on his paws. Shaw quietly fights to hold back tears that sting her eyes and resists the urge to scream and maybe put her fist through a window of the subway car or maybe the wall. “No,” she says finally shaking her head. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I was,” Harold says his own voice trembling with emotion. He wonders what else he should say, what he should do. He wants to comfort her, because he can see the hurt in her eyes no matter how hard she tries to hide it, but he doesn’t know how.

“Then there’s been some sort of mistake. She can’t be dead. One lousy gunshot wound couldn’t take her down. She’s stronger than that and she’s seen worse, we all have,” Shaw says deep in denial, refusing to believe that the one person she was finally willing to admit she felt something for is gone so soon after finding her again.

“No mistake,” Fusco says. He’s hesitant to say anything more but he manages to push the words out. “I went to identify her.” He doesn’t say anything about how he couldn’t bear to look at the body for more than a second or two, that for all he knows it could have been somebody who just happened to look a little like her on that slab. Some part of him wants to say it, but he refrains because he doesn’t want to give John or Harold or especially Shaw any false hope that will likely only serve to make their pain worse in the long run.

They’re all silent again and after a few seconds John steps toward Shaw and lifts his arms to pull her into a hug in an attempt to comfort her, because he can’t just keep standing there when he knows she’s in pain. She steps back, shaking her head again. “Don’t.” He stops and lets his arms fall along with his head, wishing he knew what to say. “Who did it,” Shaw asks looking back at Harold. “Who shot her?”

Harold doesn’t answer her, just watches her with concern as her denial fades away and anger takes its place. She wants revenge, he can see the hunger for it in her eyes. Deep down he wants to sate her appetite, but they can’t afford to have her running off and potentially getting herself killed as well. He doesn’t have an answer to give her anyway.

His silence only serves to fuel her rage. “You were right there when it happened, Finch. If you know, if you saw who it was, then tell me so I can find and bury them.” The words come out through clenched teeth. 

Harold shakes his head, sorrow in his eyes. “I didn’t see who fired the shot. And now isn’t the time to go risking your life to seek vengeance. Whoever took her from us was sent to do so by Samaritan. Your best way... our best way to avenge Ms. Groves is to continue our mission and destroy Samaritan.”

Fire burns in Shaw’s eyes and she dismisses Harry’s words, too focused on vengeance to give a damn about the bigger enemy. “What about the Machine? Does it know who did it?”

Another deep sigh escapes Harold, this time filled with frustration, lost on how to get through to Shaw. He knows that if she’s given a little time she’ll come to her senses, but they don’t have much time. “Sameen, please,” he begs.

Shaw pushes past Harold, making her way toward his computer, and glares into the camera. “Do you know? Did you see who fired the shot that took her from me.” No words pop up on the screen, no phones ring, there’s no response from the Machine. “If you know, then tell me,” she demands. While she waits for a response she’s certain she’ll never get, another thought occurs to her and it makes her even angrier. “Why didn’t you warn her? You could have saved her!” She bangs a tightly clenched fist on the desk, making the others jump at the sound, and then picks up a coffee mug and chucks it at the wall watching as it shatters into a million pieces that clatter to the ground; pieces that look like she feels.

Harold approaches her and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Sameen, stop this, please.”

“I loved her, Harold,” Shaw shouts at him as she turns to face him, shrugging his hand off her shoulder. For a second she’s shocked by her own words, but it quickly passes. She can’t lie anymore, not to herself and not the few people left who care about her… and who she cares about. She lets her eyes glance over John and Fusco, half expecting them to be shocked by her sudden confession, but they aren’t, not after the elevator at the Stock Exchange months ago. “She made me feel something I thought I’d never be able to feel.” She thinks about Gen’s words to her before she left the girl at the school, telling her the voices were there and that she just needed to listen. It took time, but with Root she learned to listen to the voices. “I loved her and I don’t think I can do this without her.” A single tear escapes and slides down her cheek as the confession slips out.

“I know,” Finch says and hesitantly pulls her into a tight embrace. The embrace is quickly broken when the payphone rings. Shaw stares at it for a second before she walks toward it, taking long strides and hoping when she picks up the receiver it will be the Machine calling to let her know where to find the bastard who killed Root.

“Can you hear me?”

The voice she hears when she answers isn’t the same old computerized voice she’s grown used to hearing from the Machine. Instead it’s a familiar voice that she finds she’s already starting to miss… again. She looks over her shoulder at Finch, wondering if this is all just part of some sort of sick and elaborate joke, but the solemn look that still rests on his face says otherwise. “Root,” she says questioningly after a few seconds.

“No Sameen,” the voice is almost apologetic. “Harold wanted me to pick a voice. I chose her’s.”

What little hope Shaw has left that Root isn’t truly gone is whisked away and it’s evident in the way her head drops and her shoulders slump forward. “You know who did this to her. You know who killed her.”

There’s silence for several seconds before the Machine answers. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“I can’t do that, Sameen. You have another mission, destroy Samaritan. That’s what she’d want.”

Shaw wants to demand that the Machine give her the information she wants, refuse to help anymore numbers and aid in the destruction of Samaritan until she has what she wants. Instead she mutters an agitated “fine,” because she knows it’s pointless to argue.

“Good,” the Machine says. “There’s a weapons shipment that will be coming in tomorrow morning on a cargo ship. You’ll need to pick it up. I’ll make sure you and John have the clearance to gain access to it and give you more information when I have it.” There’s silence again and Shaw moves to hang up the phone, but before she can the Machine speaks again. “Sameen, there’s something she wants me to tell you, something I once asked her to remind Harold of. When everything is over and the worst has happened, there’s still one thing left in Pandora’s Box: Hope.” All is quiet just long enough for the words to sink in and then the Machine says one last thing. “And she wants you to know that if you were a shape, Sameen, you would be an arrow and that she loves you too; that you’re good enough, that you’re everything she could ever want.”

Shaw places the receiver back on its hook, hand resting on the black handle for a few more seconds, head bowed and once again fighting back against the unfamiliar sting of tears as the Machine’s carefully chosen words replay in her head over and over: “wants” not “wanted,” “loves” not “loved.” She shakes her head, assuming that she must simply be reading too much into it and telling herself she’s risking causing herself more pain with her wishful thinking.

 

*~*~*

 

Harold sits down in front of his computer after the others leave. Bear whimpers and gets up from his bed and wanders over to Finch, resting his head in the man’s lap and offering a little comfort. Harold rests a hand on Bear’s head as he looks into the camera on his laptop. He’s angry and maybe even a bit depressed and sick of losing the people he cares about. “No one else dies,” he demands. “Not John, not Shaw, not Fusco, no one. I created you to protect people, now I’m asking you to protect them.” He’s quiet for a moment, deep in thought. “No one else should have to sacrifice themselves, except perhaps me.” His gaze falls, feeling guilty, like somehow he’s responsible for the deaths of Elias and Root and the others before them. They were his friends, his family, and he failed to protect them. Knowing that they volunteered to throw themselves into the middle of the war between his Machine and Samaritan doesn’t help to ease the guilt that nags at him.

He also feels guilty for the pain he knows the others feel: the pain he knows Shaw feels over losing Root; the pain John and Fusco must still feel after Carter. Some part of him wishes he could go back in time and start over, never drag those he now cares about into the mess they’ve found themselves in the middle of; perhaps never build the Machine at all. He’s too lost in his own thoughts to notice the volume on his laptop slowly increasing and it startles him when the familiar sound of Root’s voice crackles through the speakers.

“You’re hurt and you’re angry. I can see that you’re struggling, that you’re fighting an internal battle. A lot of bad things have happened. You’ve lost people you cared about and you must be wondering if it’s all been worth it. Harry, don’t forget all the good we’ve done, all the good you’ve done. The world would be a much different place without you and me and the others, and not for the better. Your friends: Nathan, Rick, Carter, Elias… Root, their deaths weren’t meaningless. They gave their lives for a cause. They died trying to make the world a better place, and I don’t think any of them would have wanted it any other way.”

The Machine’s words, though he knows they’re true, bring little comfort and do nothing to diminish Finch’s guilt. He doesn’t bother trying to fight the tears that burn his eyes. He lets them fall freely as each loss replays in his memory, each time he had to watch a friend be ripped away from him. All the good they’ve all done doesn’t seem to make up for all the loss he and the others have suffered. The tears are quickly replaced with seething anger, because he’s finally decided that he’s had enough and that he won’t stand by and watch anyone else die for his cause. “How do I stop Samaritan?”

“You can’t do it alone, Harry,” the Machine tells him.

“The hell I can’t! I won’t have anyone else caught in the crossfire anymore! I won’t watch anyone else I care about die!”

There’s no response from the Machine and it only frustrates Harold more. He tosses his glasses on the desk to wipe away his drying tears and then slips the glasses back on his face and pushes himself away from the computer. Bear follows him when he starts toward the stairs, desperate for some fresh air. The dog licks at his hand eager for his attention. “Bear, nee,” he says and the dog whimpers and returns to his bed, leaving Finch to continue toward the stairs.

He’s shocked when he finds John sitting on the top step. “I thought you’d left with Shaw and detective Fusco.”

John looks up at him and shakes his head. “I was going to. I was torn between giving you a little space and thinking you might need a friend,” he says pushing himself up. There’s silence between them for a moment before John speaks again. “I won’t let you go after Samaritan on your own. Neither will Shaw or Lionel. We’ve all come too far to back out now.”

Finch doesn’t say anything; he simply nods once John’s words sink in. He knows it isn’t worth arguing and that nothing he says will convince John to let him do this on his own. The two of them push past the vending machine and make their way out into the night, letting the light rain that begins to fall wash over them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nee is a Dutch command for don't do that


	6. Last Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is interested, the first two sections of this chapter were written while listening to 9 Crimes by Damian Rice and the last section with Shaw was written while listening to Whispers by Dave Baxter (I highly recommend this song... especially while reading that section of this chapter). 
> 
> And... I promise Root will be back soon ;)

John buys a couple beers for Harold and himself. They drink them in silence that John breaks when he can’t take it anymore. “What’s on your mind, Finch?”

Harold shakes his head, not sure he wants to discuss the thoughts racing through his mind and a bit embarrassed that John was still hanging around the subway to witness him reach his snapping point. “How many more people have to die and how many more people have to have their lives destroyed,” he asks though he knows John doesn’t have an answer. “I can’t let you, or Shaw, or detective Fusco continue to be involved in any of this. I can’t let you risk your lives anymore. I built the Machine, this is my fight.”

“I already told you, Harold, we aren’t going to let you do this on your own. We’ve been in this with you for too long. It’s just as much our fight now as it is yours. We all knew what the occupational hazards were when we agreed to work with you.” Reese sips from his beer before he continues. “Besides, there isn’t a chance in hell Shaw’s going to give up a chance to get revenge.”

Finch nods reluctantly. He knows all three of them will do everything in their power to make sure he isn’t risking everything he has left on his own. If he wants to save them, he’ll have to make his move quickly and without letting them know what he has planned.

They finish their drinks and head back out into the rainy night. John reluctantly parts with Harold, making him promise he won’t try anything stupid before they go their separate ways, both eager for a new and better day; a better day they both suspect they won’t get anytime soon.

 

*~*~*

 

It’s midnight when Fusco slips into his apartment. He opens the door to his son’s room and finds the boy tucked beneath the blankets, asleep. Tears form in the detective’s eyes as he quietly makes his way into the room and sits on the edge of the boy’s bed. He thinks about the night HR’s boys almost stole his son away from him, the few times his son’s life has been threatened because of his involvement with Finch’s crew. He can’t help but wonder if he must be insane to continue his involvement with them, especially when it’s almost cost him his son a time or two.

He starts thinking about Elias and Root instead, how quickly they were taken from them. Fusco knows that next time it could just as easily be him, that by tomorrow night his son could be fatherless, a risk he’s grown used to between working for Harold and working as a detective. Just occupational hazards.

Somehow those hazards now seem less justifiable, just like they did after Carter was killed, leaving her own son motherless. “Dad,” Lee says his voice groggy with sleep. “What time is it?”

“A little after midnight,” Fusco tells his son. His voice shakes with the emotion that he fights to hide.

“What’s wrong,” his son asks picking up the emotional tone and quiver.

“It’s nothing. Just… had a tough day at work. I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep,” he says. He doesn’t want to tell Lee about Elias or Root. He keeps everything about the threat of Samaritan to himself. The last thing he wants to do is scare his son, give the thirteen year old anymore to worry about than whatever it is kids his age already fret over. He doesn’t want to tell his son that there’s a good chance that one night soon he might not come home. He gets up from the edge of the bed and heads toward the door.

“Dad,” Lee calls to him before the detective leaves the room. Fusco looks back at him, waits for his son to say whatever it is he has to say. “I love you,” he tells his father.

Fusco holds back his tears just long enough to say, “I love you too, son,” and close the door. He makes his way to his own room and sits on his own bed. He buries his head in his hands as the tears flow free, and he prays it won’t be the last time he gets to say the words to his son.

 

*~*~*

 

The rain starts to fall harder and Shaw ducks into a nearby bar. She slides onto a stool and orders a Hennessey and downs it as soon as it’s set in front of her. The bartender stares at her for a second, mildly shocked at her ability to throw it back without so much as a flinch in response to the burn. “keep ‘em coming,” she tells him and he nods and pours a second, watches her throw that back too.

The bartender places a third drink in front of her. It isn’t hard for him to see that something’s eating away at the woman before him. He’s seen a million other customers just like her, who wander in with a shattered heart hoping the hard stuff on the shelves behind him will help glue it back together. It never seems to work; they always stumble out looking just as broken as when they shuffled in. There’s something different about this one though, like the hurt he can see she feels is foreign to her. There’s a hint of confusion that crosses her face every time her eyes turn glassy with the tears that she fights to hold back, clenching her jaw and tightening her fist around her glass to aid in the fight. “Wanna talk about it,” he asks her.

Shaw considers it for a minute, wonders if maybe talking about these feelings that are taking over, feelings so unfamiliar to her, will make it any easier. She decides against it, more enticed by the burn of the alcohol; at least that’s familiar. “No,” she says and glares up at the bartender, hoping he understands that she doesn’t want to be bothered. She just wants to drink and make the hurt go away and maybe even manage to forget. She empties her glass for a third time and waits for it to be refilled again.

The keys to Root’s apartment that Harold handed off to her before she left the subway press against her leg in her pocket. She wonders what it is he expects her to do with them. Maybe he expects that Shaw will continue staying at Root’s place even though she’s gone, but Shaw doesn’t think she can bear to spend even one night alone there, to sleep in Root’s bed without the woman beside her. She could sleep on the couch, where just the night before Root sat close beside her and snapped pictures of them and Gen and Bear, all together; a happy family. The couch where the two of them held hands while Root thought about what would happen next. Shaw wonders if this crossed her mind as a possibility. She downs the fourth drink and waits for the fifth.

She wonders what happened to Root’s phone and suddenly she wishes she’d asked Root to send her the pictures she took. Something to remember her by, something to maybe help take the pain away a little, something to make her feel like Root is still there in a way. She reaches into her pocket, wondering if maybe Harold knows where Root’s phone is and if he can get it to her somehow so she can have the pictures. Her breath catches when she sees she already has messages from Root’s phone. Three pictures and a short message: _“thought you might like to have these.”_ She looks at the time stamp, too recent to really be from Root, and thinks of the Machine. Another message pops up. _“If you ever need to hear her voice, all you have to do is pick up a phone. You’re not alone, Sameen.”_ Tears well in Shaw’s eyes and she fights the hardest battle she’s ever fought to hold them back as she glances up at the camera above the bar. The sixth drink is placed in front of her before she can finish the fifth.

Her mind starts to get fuzzy, a buzz beginning, and she finds herself wishing she’d taken advantage of the time she and Root had together. She wishes she’d figured out how to turn up the volume on the voices Gen told her about a little sooner. She wishes she hadn’t managed to lose Root so soon after finding her again. Seven and eight appear in front of her as she swallows what’s left of the sixth and a glass of ice water accompanies the two new glasses of amber liquid.

“Can I get you anything else,” the bartender asks. “Something to eat maybe?” For what Shaw thinks must be the first time in her life, she isn’t hungry. She shakes her head. “You sure? It’s on the house.” Not even the offer of free food perks Shaw’s appetite and she shakes her head again, letting her irritation with the pesky bartender show. He watches her for a moment before he shrugs and walks away, leaving Shaw to enjoy the warm embrace of two more glasses of Hennessey and stare down at the picture of her and Root on the phone in her lap.

She doesn’t know how much time passes before the bartender comes back to check on her. He eyes the untouched glass of water and the empty glasses once filled with liquid tasting of vanilla and oak. He disappears for a minute and returns with a basket filled with fries and a burger. “You should eat something,” he says setting the meal in front of her. Shaw looks at the food for a minute, the smell of it making her stomach turn, and shakes her head and pushes it away. The bartender lets out a defeated sigh and looks up at the clock hung on the wall. “You aren’t driving are you,” he asks when he turns back to Shaw.

“No,” she mutters.

The bartender nods and refills one of the empty glasses. “Last call,” he says. “We close in ten. And as the song goes, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” He gives her a faint smile, hoping it might help perk her up a bit. When it doesn’t, he just nods in acceptance and walks away.

Shaw looks at the clock on the wall and is surprised to find that it’s almost four in the morning. She slips her phone back in her pocket and tosses back the last glass of Hennessey she’ll be served for the night. She pulls a few crumbled bills out of her pocket and sets them on the bar before she stumbles out into the rain, just as broken as when she shuffled in.

She isn’t ready to go back to the place that was starting to feel like home and she doesn’t know where else to go, so she heads for the playground; the place where she took her own life 7,053 times to save the woman she couldn’t save when it was real. She steps up onto the roundabout and sits on one of the bars. Her fingers massage the area of her neck where there was always a chip implanted in the simulations. Two nights ago she prayed that it was all real, now she desperately wants it to be just another simulation. At least then she could start over, at least then Root would still be alive.

The unfamiliar tears that she’s beginning to hate well in her eyes again. She’s not drunk enough to be numb but she’s too drunk to care if the tears fall or if anyone sees. She sits there in the gently falling rain until the night starts to brighten into day despite the storm clouds that still linger over the city. She steps off the roundabout and starts in the direction of Root’s apartment. A camera on a telephone poll catches her attention and she glares up into the lens. “If this is a simulation, you can end it now because it fucking sucks. If it isn’t, then know that I will be coming for you and I will destroy you for taking her away from me.” She lets her head fall and continues toward the apartment.

When she reaches the apartment, she lets herself in and heads for the bathroom, alcohol churning in her empty stomach. It comes back up, mixed with all the things she feels that she’s never felt before, all the feelings she wishes she could make disappear again, and it’s bitter bile as it all leaves her system. She stares at herself in the mirror after she cleans herself up and she hates what she sees, the sunken bloodshot eyes and sad face that she wishes she could tear away. When she can’t stand the sight anymore, she balls her hands into fists and hits the mirror, shattering it into countless pieces, the familiar embrace of anger engulfing her once again.

“That’s seven years of bad luck,” she hears a familiar young voice say beside her and she freezes. “You left the door open so I figured it was okay to come in,” Gen says. “Where’s Root?”

Shaw forces herself to look at the girl standing in the doorway. Bile burns her throat again but she forces it back. “I’ve already had seven years worth of bad luck in one day,” she says. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be staying with Zoe. Does she even know you left?”

Gen shakes her head, “I had a feeling something bad was gonna happen or had already happened. Guess I was right.” They’re both quiet for a few seconds. “She’s gone, isn’t she,” the girl asks eventually. Shaw can only nod and Gen gives her an apologetic look. “Your hands are bleeding,” she says.

Shaw looks down at her hands, cut up from punching the mirror. “Go wait on the couch,” she tells Gen and watches the girl reluctantly walk away before she sticks her hands under the warm water still pouring out of the faucet. She washes the blood away, finds some gauze to wrap her hands with, and cleans up the shards of glass littering the sink and floor.

She sits on the couch beside Gen when she’s done in the bathroom. The two of them sit quietly in the dark until Gen breaks the silence. “You loved her, didn’t you?” She watches as Shaw nods, just barely able to make out the movement. “I told you all you had to do was listen.”

“I wish I hadn’t listened,” Shaw says. “Things seemed easier when the volume was still turned down low enough that I could ignore the voices.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Shaw says and pulls Gen into a hug. “Get some sleep,” she adds and the two of them make themselves comfortable, Shaw drifting off with her head rested on the back of the couch and Gen curled up at the other end.


	7. Business as Usual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, I listened to Brain by BANKS for a little inspiration while writing this first section of this chapter. 
> 
> Only a couple more chapters until Root's return :)

Gen wakes and finds Shaw sitting up and staring down at a gun. It’s the same gun she used to shoot herself 7,053 times; the same gun she nearly shot herself with when she found Root in the park and she was worried she might be a threat to the woman. Root’s words to her in the park and her words as they lay in bed beside each other that night echo in her head. _“This isn’t a simulation.”_ She wishes it was.

“You’re not gonna kill yourself are you,” Gen asks and Shaw jumps a little, unaware of the girl’s state of wakefulness.

“No,” Shaw says shaking her head, still eyeing the gun. She doesn’t tell Gen that she’s thinking about it, but that she can’t do it yet because she has a job to do first. She doesn’t tell the girl about how she can’t get Root’s voice out of her head, _“you can’t live with me and I can’t live without you.”_   Shaw closes her eyes, the memory of the two of them in the park still fresh in her mind. “Turns out I can’t live without you either,” she says out loud, forgetting for a moment that Gen is beside her.

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna off yourself.”

“I’m not,” Shaw tells her and sets the gun on the table.

“Sure doesn’t sound that way,” Gen says looking up at her, sadness in her little eyes.

Shaw parts her lips and glares at the girl, ready to scold her, but when she sees the look in the girl’s eyes the glare fades and she gives her an apologetic look instead. “I’m sorry,” she says and genuinely means it. She wants to promise Gen that she’ll stay true to her word, but she isn’t sure she can. She doesn’t want to make a promise to the young girl now knowing she’ll likely break it when this is all over and she’s gotten the taste of vengeance she craves.

“It’s okay,” Gen says and she thinks quietly for a moment and then adds, “I understand.”

Shaw wants to explain herself, tell the girl everything going through her head, and even if the girl would understand it all, it’s a load she doesn’t want to drop on a twelve year old’s shoulders. Her cell phone rings for what must be at least the dozenth time since she woke up after a measly two hours of sleep. Harold’s name pops up on the screen and as much as she’d rather continue to ignore his calls, it’s a relief that she has something to distract her from Gen’s concern and her own dark thoughts. “What is it, Harold?”

“Ms. Shaw, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning. Where have you been?”

“I’m…” she stops and looks at her bruised hands, wrapped in gauze and still sore, and the gun on the table. She’s certain the smell of alcohol still lingers on her breath from earlier. _I’m a mess_ , she thinks to herself and wonders how it is that she managed to fall this far in such a short amount of time. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

“Sameen,” Harold asks concern in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she says. “What do you want?” The words come out more bitter than she intends and she can feel their sting as much as she’s sure Harold can.

“Ms. Morgan called a couple hours ago. She said Gen is missing. We thought she might have gone looking for you.”

“She’s with me,” Shaw says and she can hear the breath of relief that Harold lets out. “She took off last night and found me at…” she stops, once again too caught up in her thoughts and the pain they bring to finish the sentence. She’s at Root’s place, without Root. It’s not the first time, but this time Root isn’t going to come walking back through the door.

Harold figures out what she intended to say on his own, picking up on her struggle, and he saves her from having to go on. “I know,” he says voice sympathetic. He’s hesitant to let her know his other reason for calling, that despite the death of a dear friend, somebody they all loved, they still have work to do and it’s already time for them to get back to business as usual. “We have a new number,” he says finally.

“Fine,” Shaw says. She’s angry because the last thing she wants to do so soon after losing Root is go chasing down a number that she’ll either have to save or shoot the knee caps off of, rather than just going after the people who took Root away from her. She swallows the anger and forces herself to accept that it’s just a fact of her life. “I’ll be there shortly,” she says and hangs up.

“Where are we going,” Gen asks.

For a second, Shaw considers telling Gen that she isn’t going anywhere, but she decides she can’t leave the girl at Root’s apartment alone and she lets out a deep sigh. “We’re going to see Harold. I have work to do. You’ll stay with him.” Gen pouts and Shaw shakes her head before the girl can argue. “It’s safer that way.” Her head falls and she’s quiet, lost in thought. “It would be safer if you stayed away from all of us. You should have stayed with Zoe.”

“I’m not afraid of whatever you think might hurt me and I’d rather stay with you,” Gen says. Shaw shakes her head but doesn’t say anything else, just pushes herself up from the couch, grabs her gun and heads for the door. Gen follows close at her heels, into the hall and down to the street.

 

*~*~*

 

John and Fusco carry a heavy wooden box past the vending machine and down the stairs to the subway platform. As they set it down the detective loses his grip on his end and it clatters to the ground, getting Finch’s attention and prompting John to look down at the box with a cringe, half expecting the thing to blow up in front of him. “What in the world is that,” Harold asks them.

“Explosives and other weapons. A gift from a friend in Lithuania according to the Machine. There are two more just like this on a truck in the street. Have you heard from Shaw? The Machine said she was supposed to help me with this and I’m thinking she might have been better equipped than Lionel, since he dropped this box three times.”

“Hey, these boxes are heavy and it’s a long walk down here from the street when you’re carrying a hefty box full of God knows what weapons.”

“I spoke to Ms. Shaw a short while ago, she indicated she was on her way. I certainly hope you didn’t lead anyone else down here. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how imperative it is that this location remain hidden from anyone who might report back to Samaritan,” Harold says.

“Relax Finch, we weren’t followed and we were cautious when carrying the box down.” Reese gives the man a reassuring smile.

Shaw wanders down to the platform with Gen who takes off to play with Bear. Her eyes fall on the box between John and Fusco and her shoulders slump forward a little. “Shit,” she mutters realizing that she completely forgot she was supposed to help John acquire the shipment of weapons that the Machine told her about the night before. She runs a hand over her head and through her hair, once again reminded that she’s a mess and that she’s fallen further than she knew she ever could. She reminds herself it’s only temporary, that it will all be over soon; she just has to get her hands on Samaritan first.

“Don’t worry about it,” John says. He can tell she’s torn up and he feels bad for her. “Just help me carry the other two boxes down.”

“Actually, I’d like to speak to Sameen alone for a moment,” Harold says before the two of them have a chance to leave. John lets out a sigh, realizing he’s stuck with Fusco helping him. The two men reluctantly head back up the stairs teasing each other. Harold glances at Gen for a moment, knowing he can’t send her off and not sure he wants her to overhear their conversation either. After a few seconds he gets up from his desk and directs Shaw to follow him onto the subway car, closing the door behind them. It isn’t ideal but it’s all the privacy they’re going to get. “What on Earth happened to your hands,” he asks the woman eyeing the gauze they’re wrapped in. He’s worried about her, between the bandaged hands and the faint scent of booze that lingers on her breath, the fact that she forgot she was supposed to help John this morning. She’s in a state he never expected to witness her in, not even over Root.

Shaw hesitates to answer, because she doesn’t want to worry him any more than she can see he already is and because she doesn’t really think it’s any of his business anyway. “It’s nothing,” she tells him. He stares deep into her eyes, knowing it isn’t nothing and knowing that she’s experiencing something that she’s never experienced before. John and Fusco reappear with another box, pulling Finch and Shaw's attention away from each other. They watch in silence as the two men set the box down beside the other, gently this time, and then disappear again.

Finch wants desperately to help Shaw, but isn’t sure how, especially when, even if she really is feeling something other than anger, she still refuses to show it in front of him. He looks back down at her hands, a dozen different scenarios that might have lead to the bandages being necessary running through his mind. “You can talk to me,” he tells her.

The ex-operative rolls her eyes, in no mood to talk. “There’s nothing to talk about, Finch. I came here because you told me we had a new number, so tell me what I need to know so I can get to work.”

Finch nods, accepting that he isn’t going to get anything else out of her. He opens the door of the subway car and leads Shaw back to his computer where a picture of their new number is displayed: the President of the United States.


	8. Needle in a Haystack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is interested I used Ellie Goulding's I Know You Care and Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb for a little inspiration for the fourth section of this chapter.
> 
> And just a friendly reminder that Root will be back soon :)

“You’ll be joining Mr. Reese and detective Fusco in Washington, D.C. to find and stop the threat to the President,” Finch tells Shaw as he slips his laptop into a case. “I already filled John in when I called him this morning and I suspect he’s already relayed the information to detective Fusco.”

“What about you,” Shaw asks him.

“There’s something else I need to take care of.”

“Something else involving Samaritan,” Shaw says and when Harold looks up at her she can see in his eyes that her assumption is correct. “Let me go with you. Let me help you.”

Finch shakes his head, still determined to do everything in his power to keep what friends, what family he has left from suffering the same fate as the others. “This is something I need to do on my own. John and detective Fusco will be more in need of your help than I will.” He picks up his computer case and starts for the stairs, anxious to leave before John and Fusco return and try to argue with him as well.

“They took something from me, Harold. Don’t think for even a second that I’m going to let you take them down without me.” Finch stops and turns to look at her. There’s a fire in her eyes, the same hunger for revenge that’s been there since he broke the news to her about Root. Though it still frightens him a little, he also still has a desire to sate her appetite, but he can’t risk losing her too. “At least tell me where you’re going,” she says. Harold shakes his head again and continues up the stairs and out of the subway. 

Shaw is tempted to follow him but her gut tells her not to. She knows she’ll get her chance, one way or another she’ll get her revenge. She sits on the floor beside Bear and Gen and scratches between the dog’s ears as he rests his head in her lap. He whimpers and Gen rests her head on Shaw’s shoulder as the ex-operative lets out a deep sigh. “I know,” she says. “I miss her too.”

The sound of the vending machine moving and footsteps on the stairs fills the subway as Shaw sits with Bear and the girl. John and Fusco make their way down to the platform with the last box. They set the box down and Reese looks around for Finch. “He left,” Shaw tells him. “He said he had something else he needed to take care of while we’re off saving the President. He wouldn’t tell me what he needs to do or where he’s going. All I know is that whatever it is, it involves Samaritan.” She clenches her jaw, still upset that Finch wouldn’t let her go with him when he knows that right now what she wants more than anything is a chance to deal a blow to the enemy machine and it’s agents.

John and Fusco both stare at Shaw for a few seconds. They can still see the hurt in her eyes and they know it will fade eventually, but for now it’s there for them to witness. They feel for her, but they don’t express it, because they know if they say anything, if they ask her how she’s doing, she’ll deny that she feels anything and tell them she’s just fine. Her eyes speak louder than her words would anyway.

“We should get going,” Shaw says and pushes herself up from the ground. She ignores the fact that the two of them are staring at her with so much sympathy and sorrow that it makes her stomach turn. The look in their eyes tells her that they can still see the pain she tries desperately to hide from everybody but Bear and Gen. It’s bad enough that the kid always manages to see right through her; she doesn’t need John or Fusco or Harold wordlessly offering her a shoulder on which to cry tears that she’ll never let fall, not while they’re around to see them.

The two men nod and Shaw gets Bear’s leash and hooks it on his collar. She motions for Gen to follow and the five of them head out of the subway. “We have to drop Gen off at Zoe’s before we head to D.C.,” Shaw says as they step out into the sun light. Gen parts her lips to object, but Shaw gives her a stern look and the girl remains silent as they slide into Fusco’s car.

               

Shaw goes up to Zoe’s apartment alone with Gen and Bear, silently praying that she’ll take care of the girl and the dog on short notice. “Last time you left me here, one of you didn’t come back,” Gen says and her voice is bitter and the words sting. She doesn’t look at Shaw and the ex-operative knows that the girl is angry and hurt, just like she is.

She forces the girl to face her and kneels in front of her. “I will come back for you, I can promise you that… at least this time,” Shaw tells her and it seems to put her at ease a bit. Shaw knocks on the door and she’s relieved when Zoe answers with a smile. “Sorry it’s last minute,” she tells the fixer. “But we need you to keep an eye on Gen and Bear for a day or two.”

Zoe nods and Gen hugs Shaw before she takes Bear’s leash and leads him into the apartment. Zoe’s smile fades once the girl is out of sight and she stands in the doorway looking at Shaw with a mixture of the sympathy, sorrow, and concern that the ex-operative has grown sick of seeing. “I’m sorry,” Zoe says and Shaw knows she’s talking about Root and the two simple words serve only to remind her of the pain she wishes would fade but she knows won’t. Shaw just nods and turns to head back down to the car.

 

*~*~*

 

Shaw tosses the duffle bag loaded with weapons and ammo onto one of the hotel room beds while Fusco sets up a laptop on the small desk in a corner of the room. “Hey,” Fusco says, turning to look at the ex-operative while he waits for the computer to start up. “Are you doing okay?” He already knows what her answer will be but he asks anyway, because he knows she’s in pain and he’s worried about her.

“I’m fine,” she says agitation evident in her voice as she glares at him. He nods and she returns to sorting through the guns and ammo.

John wanders into the room and looks around, eyes falling on the chair Fusco sits in, wondering if it’s comfortable enough to sleep in. He suspects it isn’t, but he decides he’ll take it anyway, since he doubts they’ll be sticking around long and one night in a chair won’t hurt too much. “I’ll take the chair tonight,” he announces.

“You can have one of the beds,” Shaw counters. “I don’t plan on sleeping much,” she adds when John looks at her with a raised eyebrow.

For the first time he notices the dark circles starting to form under her eyes and he knows she didn’t sleep much at all over the night before. “You really should try to get some sleep,” he tells her.

Shaw shakes her head. “I’ll sleep when we save the President and destroy Samaritan,” she says.

John lets out a deep sigh and exchanges a knowing glance with Fusco. They both want to argue but they know it isn’t worth it. There isn’t anything either of them can say to bring her to her senses and make her change her mind. Only time can do that; time they aren’t sure they have.

“Any hints on where we should look for our threat,” Shaw asks ready to get moving so they can do their job and get home to figure how to take care of their bigger threat.

“He’s holding a press conference tomorrow morning about government surveillance being necessary for adequate security.” Both Shaw and John stop and stare at the back of Fusco’s head and when they don’t say anything he turns to look at them. “What,” he asks when he finds them staring at him.

“Press conference about the necessity of government surveillance,” Shaw says, “perfect time for anti-surveillance terrorists to strike.” She looks at John and he nods in agreement. “Where is he holding the press conference,” she asks turning back to the detective.

“In front of the White House,” he tells them. They both nod, relieved to at least know where to start.

 

*~*~*

 

The warm Texas sun is starting to sink below the horizon as Harold makes his way off the air base with the Ice-nine virus in hand, Root’s voice in his ear the whole time, helping him to avoid anyone who might try to stop him. He gets in his car and takes a few deep breaths before he starts the engine and presses his foot down a little further than necessary on the gas pedal, anxious to get home and prepare to put the virus to use.

His phone rings and when he pulls over and looks at the screen he half expects to see John’s name or maybe Shaw’s pop up on the screen. Instead, there’s a number he isn’t familiar with displayed there and he reluctantly answers. “Mr. Harold Finch,” a male voice asks after he answers.

“Yes,” Harold responds, voice questioning.

“You asked me to call you with information on when your friend would be buried,” the man on the other end says.

Realization hits along with a sadness that he’s concluded will likely never fade, at least not completely. “Yes, of course,” he says.

“It’ll be in two days, Tuesday morning,” the man tells him and gives him the location of the gravesite before hanging up.

Finch lets out a deep sigh before he reluctantly types a text with the information and sends it to John, hoping that they’ll be back from their trip to D.C. in time to attend and hoping that maybe it will give Shaw a little closure, though he doubts it. He pulls back out onto the empty road and he’s startled when he hears her voice in his ear again.

“It’ll get easier in time,” the Machine says but it doesn’t give him the comfort intended and he just shakes his head, focusing on the road and struggling to keep his eyes open. “You’re tired. You should find some place to get some rest. There’s a motel not far from here. Not the most luxurious place, but it’s cheap and decent enough for a one night stay.”

Harold thinks about it for a minute and he almost says no, because he doesn’t want to make a stop and interact with hotel desk clerks and he doesn’t think he deserves a night of decent sleep on an at least somewhat decent bed, and it’s only a few hours drive to the airport where he landed his plane and stole his car anyway. He just wants to get home and plan his next move. “Fine,” he says despite his reservations and he thinks he can actually hear relief in the Machine’s voice as she starts relaying directions.

 

*~*~*

 

Shaw looks out the hotel room window, watching as cars occasionally speed by on the street below. Soft snores from Fusco penetrate the silence and while she might normally find the sound annoying, now she finds it comforting; a reminder that she isn’t as alone as she feels. John lies on the bed closest to her and he’s quiet but Shaw knows he’s only pretending to be asleep. She can feel his eyes on her in the darkness, wide awake and worrying about her. “You should sleep,” she says without looking at him, head rested against the window and still watching the cars go by.

The detective’s snores remain the only sound invading the silence for a long time after she speaks and for a moment she wonders if maybe she was wrong and if he is asleep. What feels like an eternity later John finally replies. “So should you,” he says to her though he knows she won’t listen.

The ex-operative lets out a deep sigh and steps away from the window. She can’t stand to have him lie there watching her. She hates knowing that she’s the reason he’s wide awake. “I’m going for a walk,” she says heading for the door.

“I’ll go with you,” John offers and starts to get up.

“No. Stay here. I just… I need some time to myself,” Shaw says and she’s relieved when he nods after a few seconds and settles back on the bed. Shaw steps out into the hall and pulls her cell phone out of her pocket and heads for the stairwell as she dials Root’s number. She doesn’t find as much relief as she’d hoped for when the Machine answers before the phone even has a chance to ring. Shaw glances up at a camera on the wall above the hallway window before she pushes through the door to the stairwell.

“You miss her,” the Machine says and it’s true but Shaw doesn’t admit it out loud. “What can I do for you,” the Machine asks after several seconds of silence pass.

“I…,” the ex-operative struggles to get the words out, but with a little effort she manages to say what she wants, what she needs. “I just need to hear her voice,” she requests.

The Machine complies and as Shaw listens she slides to the floor in the corner behind the door, back against the wall and knees pulled to her chest. She doesn’t say anything; she just listens with the phone on speaker in her lap. Before long, her eyes grow heavy and she drifts off to the sound of Root’s voice.

 

The sun starts to peak in through the window and the streak of light that falls across John’s face wakes him up. He rubs at his eyes and sits up, trying to remember when exactly it was he finally managed to drift off. He remembers Shaw slipping out into the hall for a late night walk and when he looks around the room he realizes that she isn’t there and he wonders if she ever returned from her walk at all. He gets out of bed and picks his phone up off the desk and reads over a message from Finch; information about Root’s burial. John slides the phone into his pocket with a sigh after sending a response acknowledging that he got the message. He knows at some point he’ll have to pass the information on to Shaw and he dreads it and turns his attention to his partner to get his mind off it for the time being. “Hey Lionel,” he says looking toward the sleeping detective. Fusco doesn’t stir and John wanders over to the bed and gently shakes him until he finally wakes up.

Fusco’s a little startled at first when his eyes open and he finds himself staring up at John. He takes a moment to re-familiarize himself with his surroundings as he sits up. “Is it morning already,” he asks a little disappointed that he isn’t going to get the chance to sleep in a little longer. “Hey, where’s Shaw,” he asks when he realizes the woman isn’t there.

John shrugs, “she said she was going to take a walk late last night. I don’t know if she ever came back. We need to find her,” he says and Fusco nods as he reluctantly gets up out of the bed. Reese tries calling her phone first but he gets a busy signal. “Take the elevator down to the lobby. Maybe she went to get some breakfast. I’ll take the stairs,” he says and heads for the hallway.

John almost misses the ex-operative asleep in the corner, but he stops a couple steps down when he hears the sound of Root’s voice. He turns around and finds Shaw with her head rested against the wall and he can’t help but wonder how she could possibly be comfortable enough to have fallen asleep. “Shaw,” he says crouching beside her. He puts a hand on her shoulder and shakes her gently but she doesn’t open her eyes until he takes the phone from her lap and hangs it up, silencing the Machine.

The ex-operative’s eyes fly open and she stares at Reese, confused at first and then irritated. She grabs her phone out of his hand and pushes herself up from the floor without saying a word. He stops her and pulls her back when she goes for the door. She glares at him and pulls away. “We need to get ready,” she says and reaches for the door again.

“Were you here all night?”

Shaw stops, hand on the door. She doesn’t look at him, just rolls her eyes and lets out a deep sigh, agitated and not interested in having the conversation that John is trying to drag her into. “It doesn’t matter,” she says finally.

“It does matter,” John argues but she ignores him and pulls the door open. “It matters to me, Shaw. I need to know that you’re okay,” he says following her. He grabs her again when she continues to ignore him. “We need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what? There’s nothing to talk about, Reese. I’m fine.” She pulls away from him again and heads back to the room.

John doesn’t bother trying to stop her again, because he knows it’s pointless to keep trying. She isn’t going to talk about what she’s feeling. He knows she’ll just keep denying that she’s feeling anything at all. The door to their room slams closed and John catches Fusco as he steps off the elevator at the other end of the hall.

“What’s that all about,” the detective asks nodding his head toward the door.

John shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, unsure where to start or if he should try to explain it to Fusco at all.

Shaw reemerges a few seconds later, armed and ready to go. “What the hell are you guys waiting for? Let’s go get this over with,” she says and heads back for the stairs, leaving John and Fusco to stare after her.

“What’s going on with her,” Fusco asks turning his attention back to John.

“She’s mourning,” Reese says with a sigh and lets himself back into the room, the detective on his heels. They arm themselves and when they finally make it down to the parking lot Shaw is already in the car and ready to go. 

“You two slow pokes ready to get this show on the road,” she asks them as John slides in the front passenger seat and Fusco reluctantly gets in the back. She doesn’t wait for an answer before she puts her foot down on the gas.

“Don’t you think maybe we should have a plan before we go recklessly rushing into this,” Reese suggests and Shaw shrugs because she doesn’t really care.

“We’ll figure it out when we get there,” she says finally. It isn’t the answer John was looking for and he parts his lips to say something else but decides against it and keeps his mouth shut until the car finally comes to a stop, parked on the street not too far from their destination.

“Now can we come up with a plan,” John asks and he cringes a little when she glares at him.

They’re interrupted by a tap on the passenger side window. “Who the hell is that,” Shaw asks staring past John at the man smiling in at them.

John turns to look out the window and he’s a little shocked when he sees who’s staring back at him. “Logan,” he says rolling the window down, “what are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same, but then I thought about our previous encounter and it occurred to me that we might be working for the same entity.”

A look of confusion settles on John’s face and he’s about to ask for clarification when Shaw speaks up and saves him from having to ask. “You’re working for the Machine,” she asks a little surprised.

Logan nods, still smiling. He reaches a hand through the window, past John, intending to introduce himself to the ex-operative with a handshake. She just stares down at the hand with a raised eyebrow, looking uninterested in the gesture. He finally pulls his hand away after a few seconds, accepting that the shake isn’t likely to happen. “Logan Pierce,” he says smile fading. Shaw just nods her head in acknowledgement.

“This is Shaw,” John says to Logan as the three of them get out of the car. He can feel the ex-operative’s eyes stabbing into his back and he knows she’s probably irritated with him for feeling the need to finish up the introductions for her.

“I assume you’re all here because of the threat to the President,” Logan says ready to cut to the chase with the introductions over. John only nods and Logan goes on, “we think the threat might come from somebody close to him, maybe a Secret Service agent. There’s a small group of privacy terrorists in the area and we’ve intercepted a few phone calls and messages that seem to indicate that they managed to get to one of the agents.”

“We,” John asks curious who else the Machine contacted and dragged into this.

Logan’s smile returns as he fills Reese in on who he’s working with. “The Machine contacted a few other people you’ve helped. I’ve been working with Joey Durban, Harper Rose, and an ex-thief named Tomas. The Machine indicated there might be a few others as well.”

“Tomas,” Shaw asks shocked by the mention of his name and finding it hard to believe that he’d declare himself an _ex_ -thief.

“He’s talked about you a lot. Seems to hold you in high regard,” Logan says with a nod.

“It’s mutual,” the ex-operative responds. “Is he here?”

Logan nods again. “The two of you can catch up after we save the President from privacy terrorists.”

Shaw isn’t sure she wants to catch up. Thinking about him just reminds her of Root and the woman’s shameless flirting in her ear while the ex-operative worked to get close to the thief to protect him from his own crew. She also thinks about Root’s exceedingly obvious jealousy in response to the idea that Shaw might have been even slightly attracted to him. Thinking about it brings a small smile to her face that disappears just as quickly as it formed, because with the good memories comes the reminder that she’s gone and the pain comes right back. “Let’s get this over with,” she says and pops the trunk and wanders to the back of the car to grab the bag with a rifle and a few other toys hidden away inside.

She walks ahead of the rest of them, searching for a decent vantage point; somewhere she’ll be able to watch over the speech and take down their perpetrator if they decide to make themselves known. When she finds an abandoned building she forces her way inside and climbs several flights of stairs until she reaches the roof where she sets up.

“What about the rest of us,” Fusco asks standing on the street with John and Logan, the three of them a little befuddled by Shaw’s sudden change in tactics, rushing into things recklessly and without a solid plan.

John quietly prays it doesn’t end up impeding their ability to save the President or getting them all killed. “You and Logan keep an eye on things down here. See if you can get close and let us know if you see anything suspicious,” he tells Fusco and Logan. “I’ll head up with Shaw.” He makes his way through the now broken door, following in Shaw’s footsteps up to the roof where she’s already got her rifle set up, ready for a reason to pull the trigger.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Reese,” she says when she hears his footsteps as he approaches her and stands at her side.

John thinks that’s debatable right now and he almost says what’s on his mind but he holds back, keeping his mouth shut until he can come up with something to say that’s a little less likely to get him tossed over the edge. “So, what’s your plan,” he asks eventually.

“What do you think the plan is? Isn’t it a little obvious? I keep an eye on things from right here and if anyone proves to be a threat I take them down. Nice and simple.” She doesn’t bother to look up at him. She just watches through the scope as the President takes his place behind the podium set up outside the White House, Secret Service agents at his side as he prepares to give his speech on the importance of surveillance to ensure national security.

Shaw watches the President’s lips move through the scope, unable to hear what he’s saying and not really interested anyway. John settles in beside her, letting out a deep sigh that tells her there’s still more lecturing he wants to do. “Don’t,” she says before he has a chance to say anything else.

“Don’t what,” John asks her.

“You know what,” she retorts without bothering to look up at him, attention still focused primarily on the President and the growing crowd below. “I don’t like the number of people down there. More people are going to make this more complicated,” she says in an attempt to change the subject. John doesn’t say anything in response and she’s relieved to have at least a few moments of silence.

 

Fusco and Logan push their way toward the front of the growing crowd, the detective using his badge to help them get around a few reporters. They don’t stop until they’re forced to by a couple Secret Service agents that block anyone from getting any further. “Should we split up,” Logan asks the detective and Fusco thinks about it for a few seconds before he nods.

“Keep an eye out for anything suspicious,” Lionel tells him. He remembers the man saying something about intercepting messages between a group of privacy terrorists and a Secret Service agent. “And keep a close eye on the agents,” he adds. Logan nods before he takes off. Lionel eyes the reporters closest to him, holding their arms out with microphones, spitting questions despite desperate pleas for them to hold their questions until the end of the press conference. He spends a few extra seconds scanning over the nearby agents and they squint back at him, sizing him up just like he’s doing to them. “All quiet down here so far. How are you guys doing up there,” he asks after turning his com on.

“Haven’t seen anything suspicious yet,” John replies as he pulls a pair of binoculars out of the bag Shaw dragged up with her. “But it’s still early,” he adds and starts scanning the area, checking out the windows of other surrounding buildings while Shaw keeps an eye on what’s happening below. He spots a few sharp shooters, well hidden from the untrained eye as they keep watch for any potential targets. Reese silently prays they aren’t spotted before they have a chance to find the target they know must be lurking somewhere.

John stops scanning when he spots what looks like a sharp shooter in the window of a building diagonally to their right. He watches him for a second, noticing that he isn’t scanning the area like the other sharp shooters, he’s just sitting with his weapon pointed in the President’s direction. “I think I found our threat,” he says still watching the man through his binoculars. “Building to the right, top floor, second window from the left,” he says giving Shaw the target’s position. “He’s gonna take the shot, Shaw,” he adds voice a little frantic.

Shaw doesn’t bother trying to find the target with the scope. She aims the rifle in the president’s direction and takes the shot just seconds before a second shot rings out. The bullet from Shaw’s rifle hits the podium, sending wood splinters flying and causing the President to duck for cover as his nearby agents begin to surround him. Reporters and other onlookers and bystanders scream out, a few of them taking cover and others fleeing. The second shot misses the President and hits one of the nearby Secret Service agents instead.

A third shot rings out before a hail of bullets head for Shaw and John and the ex-operative recognizes Tomas’ voice when she hears, “target down,” over her com.

John stares at Shaw in shock for a moment before they both duck their heads and run for cover, doing their best to dodge the gun fire from sharp shooters and SWAT officers on helicopters in the area. He stops once they’re inside the building and at least temporarily out of harm’s way, watching as Shaw packs the rifle away back in the bag and takes out a couple submachine guns, handing one off to him. “You just took a shot at the fucking President,” he says accepting the weapon.

“I didn’t hit him,” she retorts and she’s already sick of whatever lecture she knows he’s about to give her about being reckless. “By the time I’d have gotten a decent shot at the target the President would have been dead.”

Reese considers it for a second before he decides that, reckless as it may have been, she did the right thing. “Yeah, but now we’re the ones who are going to end up dead,” he says as they start making their way down the stairs. They hear footsteps approaching fast and they stop again, taking cover around a corner, prepared to shoot the kneecaps off whatever SWAT officers are or whoever else is headed their direction.

“What the hell are you guys doing,” a voice says and the footsteps stop.

“One of the shots taken at the President, it came from the roof of this building,” somebody else answers.

“Yeah, the target is already gone; took off down the street. You’re wasting precious time clearing an empty building.” There’s silence for a moment before their savior speaks up again, “what the hell are you waiting for? Get your asses moving!” The sound of footsteps rings out again, this time heading away from John and Shaw, except for one pair. They keep their guns at the ready, not sure what to expect. “John,” a man dressed in a military uniform says as he makes his way around the corner, hands raised above his head to let Reese and Shaw know he isn’t a threat.

John lowers his gun when he recognizes the man and he smiles. “Joey,” he says a little shocked to see him again.

Durban nods and returns the smile. He turns to Shaw after a second and stares at the gun she still has trained on him. “Contrary to what the uniform may suggest, I’m not a really a huge fan of having guns pointed at me,” he says still smiling and Shaw hesitantly lowers the gun, rolling her eyes. “Follow me,” Joey says to them. “The others are waiting.”

 

 

*~*~*

 

It’s almost noon before Harold wakes up. He looks at the clock after slipping his glasses back on his face and he’s startled when he sees how late it is. He packs up his computer and slips his com back in his ear. “I wouldn’t have been opposed to a wake-up call a few hours earlier,” he says knowing the Machine is listening.

“You needed as much rest as you could get. And since there’s no need to rush right now, I figured it was as good a time as any to let you catch up on some of the sleep you’ve lost.”

Finch steps out into the early afternoon Texas sun and limps toward the lobby. He slides the key to his room across the counter along with enough cash to pay for his night in the room. The desk clerk gives him a small smile and thanks him for staying and Harold nods, trying and failing to return the smile, before he heads back out to his car. “Thank you,” he says as he slides into the driver’s seat, setting his computer case on the passenger seat. “For letting me sleep in,” he adds realizing that the Machine is right; he needs all the rest he can get. He knows he’ll need it to be prepared for the fight ahead.

“You’re welcome, Harold,” the Machine replies as he starts the car and backs out of the parking space. He pulls out onto the road, pointing the car toward the airport and wondering what the Machine’s next request will be to postpone his arrival home. “You should eat something,” he hears in his ear before long and he’s mildly annoyed but at the same time he’s glad the Machine seems to be looking out for him while he fails to look out for himself. He still considers turning down the request, but his stomach growls and he remembers that he hasn’t eaten since before leaving New York. “There’s a fast food joint a couple miles down the road. It’s not the most nutritious option but it’s better than nothing.”

“Alright,” Harold submits and follows the Machine’s directions to the restaurant she leads him to.

 

*~*~*

 

Shaw finishes off her fifth beer and she can hear Tomas talking to her but she’s barely listening to him, too far lost in her own thoughts and too busy drowning herself in alcohol to really give a damn. Eventually she notices that he’s stopped talking to her and she watches as he turns to John and speaks to him quietly.

“What’s up with her,” Tomas asks John.

Reese hesitates to answer. He glances at Shaw briefly and then his gaze settles back on Tomas. “She lost someone,” he tells the ex-thief. John sips from his beer, deep in thought for a second. “We all did,” he adds. For the first time since getting the news, John realizes that he genuinely misses Root too, even if she was a pain in his ass every now and then.

“Who was he,” Tomas asks. “A member of your team?”

“She… and yeah. But…” John hesitates again knowing damn well Shaw will be pissed if he brings up her personal life. He thinks about it for a few seconds, finishing off his beer, before he decides to go ahead and finish his sentence, “I think she was more than just a member of the team to Shaw.”

Tomas nods in understanding and he looks back at Shaw sympathetically but he doesn’t say anything. He knows it’s better if he just keeps quiet rather than trying to pry the ex-operative open to access the emotions they all know are locked away inside.

“We should go. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us and I’m ready to get home,” Shaw says hopping off her bar stool. She glares at John and she can’t stand to look at Tomas because the sympathy in his eyes makes her stomach turn. “I’ll be in the car,” she says tossing the money to pay for her drinks on the bar before making her way out to the car.

John and the others watch her and after a few seconds John and Fusco pay for their drinks and say their goodbyes. “Don’t be strangers,” he tells Logan, Joey, Tomas, and Harper and the four of them promise they’ll be in touch soon.

“Let’s get home,” Fusco says as the two men step outside into the fading sunlight and Reese nods as he slides into the front passenger seat. He glances over his shoulder at Shaw in the back seat and they make brief eye contact until she looks away, gaze focused on the people that pass on the sidewalk.

Fusco gets in the driver’s seat and starts the car. He glances in the rearview mirror before he pulls out into traffic when he gets a brief opening, and they head for home.

 

It’s late when they finally get back into New York City and Shaw knocks on the door to Zoe’s apartment. Gen is at the woman’s side when she answers and a relieved look settles on her face when she sees the ex-operative. She steps past Zoe and throws her little arms around Shaw. “You came back,” she says.

“I promised I would,” Shaw says returning the hug. The girl disappears back into the apartment after they separate. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her,” Shaw says to Zoe and the fixer nods with a smile.

Gen returns with Bear and stands at Shaw’s side, obviously anxious to go. “Tell John to give me a call sometime,” Zoe requests and Shaw nods and follows the girl down to Fusco’s car. The two of them slide into the backseat with the dog and they’re all quiet until the car comes to a stop outside Root’s apartment.

“Your girlfriend wants you to call her,” Shaw tells John before she slides out of the car.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” John says and Shaw gives him a knowing glance that lets him know that she’s not buying his denial. “We’ve spent a few nights together,” he admits, “but she’s not my girlfriend… not officially,” he adds.

“You should make it official,” Shaw tells him. “The two of you would be good together.” She slides out with Gen and Bear before John can say anything else.

Reese looks at Fusco and lets out a deep sigh, because he knows the detective will tease him all the way back to the station. He rolls down his window when he remembers the text he received from Finch. “Shaw,” he calls and she rolls her eyes and turns around, tired and anxious to get up to the apartment and spend another restless night on the couch. “They’re burying her tomorrow morning,” he tells her and he regrets it a little when he sees her face fall. She nods and turns away from him, shuffling inside.

“You think she’ll be okay,” Fusco asks and there’s genuine concern in his eyes. John only shrugs because he isn’t sure she will be but he doesn’t want to admit his doubt out loud. Even though he keeps quiet, the detective can see the doubt and concern in John’s eyes and he nods in understanding as he pulls the car back out into traffic. “When is Glasses supposed to be back,” he asks.

“Should be back already,” John tells him.

“Think he’ll join us tomorrow morning?”

Reese shakes his head. He doubts Finch will want be there to watch another one of his friend’s be buried. He doesn’t expect to see Shaw there either, at least not while there’s anyone else around, but he doesn’t express these doubts to Fusco either.

“What about Elias. You guys hear anything about him?”

It suddenly occurs to John that they’ve been too busy thinking about Root and worrying about Shaw and Samaritan to even find out whether Elias pulled through or not. They just assumed that he was another body to add to the count and that his men would get in contact with them if they wanted them to show up for his funereal. He shrugs again. “Haven’t heard anything.” He considers suggesting that Lionel ask Finch, but he decides against it. If the detective starts asking questions about Elias it’ll just serve to remind Finch of all the friends he’s lost and he doesn’t think the man needs to be reminded. 


	9. 050313

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is interested, I listen to Film Credits by Olafur Arnalds to gain a little inspiration for this first section of this chapter.

Heavy gray clouds block out the sun and Shaw watches from a distance as a cheap casket is lowered into the ground and the hole it’s set in is refilled with dirt. It makes her angry and she can’t help but think that the least the Machine could have done was make sure there were enough funds available to give Root a nice casket. She tells herself it doesn’t matter, because why would a dead person give a shit what kind of box they’re buried in. Telling herself it doesn’t matter doesn’t make her feel any better, because it might not have mattered to Root, but it does matter to her.

John and Fusco are much closer. They stand just beside the grave, watching as the final pile of dirt is dumped on the ground over the casket. They stand there for a few minutes, talking to each other. She’s too far to bother trying to read their lips but her ears start to ring and she knows her name must have been spoken between them. Perhaps they’re discussing the way she’s reacted to Root’s death. Her suspicion is confirmed when the two of them turn and look at her for a moment and even from a distance she can see the pity on their faces. For a moment, it angers her more, but she decides it doesn’t matter.

When the two men finally walk away she slowly makes her way toward the small mound of dirt. There’s a small tombstone behind it, unmarked except for a number. The unknown soldier who gave her life to protect her friends, who gave her life fighting to protect the world from a malicious machine the world will never even know exists, assuming what’s left of their team succeeds in destroying it.

Shaw stares down at the grave and a light rain begins to fall, soaking the disturbed ground and slowly turning the dirt to mud. It occurs to her that she never got the chance to say goodbye, that she only got to say ‘I love you’ once, and that there’s at least a dozen other things she suddenly wishes she’d said when she had the chance. She figures now is just as good a time as any to at least say goodbye. “I’m not one for any of that superstitious or paranormal crap. I never believed in ghosts or angels, or people you cared about sticking around to watch over you,” she falls quiet for a minute. Her eyes are wet but no tears fall today. “Root, I don’t know if you can hear me from wherever it is you are, but…” she stops again and shakes her head wanting to say more than just goodbye but not sure what else she should say. “I never got the chance to say goodbye, but I’m terrible at this sort of thing. I’m sure you already know that, so I guess I’ll just leave it at that.” She turns to walk away, unable to bear looking down at the grave of the only person she ever really felt anything for, the woman she loved when she thought she was incapable of loving. She stops before she takes a step away. “I… I hope soon I’ll see you on the other side,” she says before she walks away.

 

*~*~*

 

“Did she show,” Harold asks looking up at John standing beside him.

Reese nods. “She was there, but not with Lionel and me. She kept her distance until we left.”

Harold lets out a deep sigh and bows his head. He knows Shaw is torn up and he wants her to open up to him, maybe let him know how he can help. He also knows that just isn’t the way she works and that she’s a lone eagle who’d rather work through it on her own.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” John says resting a hand on Finch’s shoulder when he sees the concern in the man’s eyes. The words offer little comfort to him and do nothing to diminish his worry for the woman. He can’t help but feel, deep down, that she really won’t be fine, not this time. It seems, at least to him, that the only thing keeping her going is her hunger for vengeance. He’s seen that kind of hunger before, in Root when Samaritan had Shaw. The difference then was that Shaw came back to them alive; Root can’t come back from the grave. It frightens him a little and he tries to focus his mind on something else.

“We have another new number,” Finch says eventually turning back to his computer and directing John’s attention to the screen. There’s a picture of an elderly man there and John wonders what sort of trouble he could possibly be involved in to cause his number to come up, or what trouble he might be planning to start. “I’d like you and Shaw to keep a close eye on him,” Harold says. “He may not look like somebody you’d expect to find in the middle of any sort of trouble, but he’s a wealthy man and there are a few people out there who I suspect may be looking to get their hands on his money.”

John looks over Harold’s shoulder, scanning over the information displayed on the screen about the man. “Retired art dealer,” he reads aloud.

“Semi-retired,” Harold corrects. “It seems in the prime of his career he was involved in the sale of a number of works to a few prominent art museums including the Louvre and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Now, it appears, he deals mostly in low profile and private sales.”

The mention of private sales gives John an idea about a possible motive for somebody to go after the aging art dealer. “Any chance he might be dealing fakes and sold one to the wrong person?”

“I very much doubt it, but I suppose we shouldn’t dismiss any possibilities just yet,” Harold says looking up at Reese. “I’ll get in touch with Shaw and fill her in and have her meet you at his home. You’ll be posing as a couple interested in purchasing a painting.”

The events of the day before replay in John’s head and he can’t help but wonder if he might be better off with Fusco tagging along on this one. He knows Shaw was right to take a shot at the President to save him, but he can’t help but worry what might happen if a similar situation crops up again and this time somebody ends up hurt or dead. He feels like she’s being a little too reckless and a little too withdrawn or perhaps careless and it sets him on edge. “It isn’t too late to have Fusco tag along instead, is it,” he asks.

Harold considers it for a moment, confused by John’s sudden reluctance to work with Shaw. “I suppose I might be able to work something out. But might I ask why?”

John cringes and looks away, uncertain where to start or if he should answer at all. The last thing he wants to do is make Shaw look bad. “I’m just a little worried about her, Finch,” he says finally. “I think she could use a few days off,” and he honestly believes that’s all she needs.

Finch nods, accepting Reese’s answer and agreeing. John thinks he’s managed to save himself from having to explain further and he heads for the stairs, stopping in his tracks when he hears Finch call out to him. “You never told me what happened in D.C.,” he says turning to look at John standing at the bottom of the stairs. “I assume you were successful in your attempt to save the President and that the threat against him was properly dealt with.”

“He was targeted by a small group of privacy terrorists in the area. They managed to get in contact with a Secret Service agent that agreed with their cause and convinced him to work with them. He posed as a sharp shooter during the President’s press conference on the necessity of government surveillance to aid with national security.”

“According to the news there were multiple shots taken at the President,” Harold says confused by the mention of only one primary threat.

John looks toward the ground as he nods. “Shaw couldn’t have gotten a shot off at the target in time to stop him, so she took a shot at the President instead to get him undercover,” he says looking back up at Finch. He sees shock in the man’s eyes and he instantly regrets letting him know about the reckless but necessary move and decides not to let him know about the woman’s late night walk and finding her asleep in the hotel stairwell listening to the Machine before diving into their rescue mission, or any of the other little things that have made him worry about the ex-operative. His mind wanders away from Shaw and her recent behavior and to the Secret Service agent who was hit by the second shot. Thinking about the agent serves as a sobering reminder that no matter how hard they try, they can’t save everyone and that sometimes, in the process of saving a life, another has to be sacrificed. He thinks maybe he should be used to that by now, that he should be able to accept it, but deep down it bothers him.

The shock eventually fades from Harold’s eyes as he considers what John tells him and accepts that Shaw did what she felt was necessary. He makes a mental note to let her know that he would prefer if she didn’t shoot at the people they’re supposed to save in the future. It occurs to him that Shaw and John are likely lucky to be alive after a move like that. “How on Earth did you manage to make it out of there alive with the attention of every Secret Service agent and SWAT officer focused on you after taking a shot at the President?”

“We had a little help,” John tells Finch. “Seems your Machine isn’t just giving us numbers anymore, Finch. Logan Pierce, Joey Durban, Harper, and Tomas were there to lend a hand too. Logan said the Machine sent them. And from the sounds of it, the President wasn’t their first number.”

There’s shock on Harold’s face again and knowing that the Machine has taken it upon herself to start giving out numbers to others sets him a little on edge. At the same time, it offers him a little relief knowing the burden of saving those in danger or stopping those looking to harm others no longer falls entirely on them. He nods after a few seconds, accepting that things are changing and that he’s no longer fully in control and that perhaps it truly is better that way. “I’ll make arrangements for Fusco to meet you at Mr. LeBeau’s home,” he tells John and watches as the man once again heads for the stairs and disappears from sight.  

 

*~*~*

 

Gen watches cartoons, sitting on the couch in Root’s apartment, Bear resting beside her with his head in her lap. She looks up at Shaw when she hears the door to the apartment unlock and open. Her hair is soaked and droplets of water run off the leather jacket she wears. The girl notices the look in the woman’s eyes, a mixture of anger and sadness, and she recognizes the dripping wet jacket. “They buried her,” she says and Shaw nods. “You’re wearing her jacket.”

Shaw nods again and heads for the kitchen. She grabs a beer out of the refrigerator and returns to the living room, sitting beside Gen as she twists the cap off the bottle and tosses it on the coffee table. “Remote,” she says and Gen hands it over so Shaw can flip to the news. It’s all gossip and sports, always the same. The rest of the world still doesn’t know what’s really going on outside their doors. Everybody else is still oblivious to how much team machine has risked for them, how much they’ve lost. She sips from the bottle and Root’s voice echoes in her head, “ _maybe it’s better that way.”_ She could accept that before, but now she isn’t sure she can. Now she’s lost too much to simply accept that everybody else gets to walk around clueless.

“What’s wrong,” Gen says when she looks at Shaw after putting her cartoons back on. Shaw shakes her head, not sure how to explain what’s going through her head to the girl, how to explain that she just doesn’t think it’s fair anymore that they have to risk so much while everyone else gets to live on like nothing is wrong. She doesn’t know how to explain that it isn’t fair that they get to live on without knowing that people have died for them. “I can tell that something’s bothering you,” Gen says.

“Yeah? How,” Shaw says challenging the girl.

“Sometimes people try to hide the things they feel. They forget that our eyes speak, even yours.”

Shaw looks away from the girl, hiding her eyes and feeling like they’ve betrayed her. “Who told you that,” she asks.

Gen shrugs, “I heard it somewhere. It seems to be true, especially with you.” She doesn’t tell Shaw that it was Root she heard it from. She just goes back to petting Bear and watching her cartoons.

The girl’s words sink in as Shaw sits there quietly, reminded of how smart and observant the ten year old is. “I miss her,” Shaw says eventually. Gen looks back at her again and the look in the girl’s eyes tells Shaw that this isn’t news to her, even though Shaw has spent the day trying to pull herself together, make herself seem like the woman almost everybody thought she was; the woman who should appear unaffected by death. She knows the girl must have seen the truth in her eyes. “And it’s not fair,” she continues. “It’s not fair that I have to miss her while everybody else goes on like normal. It’s not fair that they get to stay oblivious that somebody died protecting them and fighting to make sure they didn’t have to know about the enemy we’re facing for them.” Talking about it only makes her even angrier and she longs to throw something, or punch a wall or somebody’s face, or shoot something or someone, or maybe just scream as loud as she can.

Gen sees it all in her eyes and she urges Bear off the couch so she can scoot across the cushions and closer to Shaw. The dog settles at the ex-operative’s feet and Shaw’s grateful that at least she still has Bear and Gen. They don’t make up for losing Root but at least they’re there to offer a little comfort. She slips Root’s leather jacket off and drapes it over her and Gen like a small blanket and the two of them quietly watch cartoons until they drift off for a late afternoon nap.


	10. 01010010 01101111 01101111 01110100

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, I listened to Saturn by Sleeping at Last for a little inspiration for the last section of this chapter.

John meets Fusco in the driveway of a mansion on Todt Hill in Stanton Island. He can tell by the look on the detective’s face that he isn’t thrilled to be a part of this mission. “Glasses said this guy was expecting a couple. You wanna explain that to me,” the detective says and Reese can’t help but smirk and laugh quietly.

“Relax Lionel, it’s only until we find out why this guy’s number came up and either save him or save somebody else from him. After that, we go back to being work partners who are in no way romantically involved.” John smirks again.

The detective feels like he’s the butt of some bad joke that he must have missed the punch line to and it takes every ounce of restraint that he can muster to hold back from smacking John’s iconic smirk right off his face. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Let’s just get this over with. Wouldn’t do us any good if I decided to divorce your ass before we even shake hands with the guy.” Reese laughs quietly again, agitating Fusco more.

“Lover’s quarrel,” they hear somebody ask and they turn their attention to a white haired man in his late seventies and more full of life than either of them expected. “You must be Sam and John,” he says stopping in front of them and offering a hand. “Martin LeBeau,” he says as the two men accept the offered hand. “Please, come inside.”

“Sam,” Fusco asks quietly, confused.

“Finch originally planned for Shaw to tag along with me on this one. I asked for you instead,” John explains still smirking.

“Just wait until I tell Zoe all about this,” Lionel says, leaning in so John can hear him and the threat finally makes the smirk disappear from Reese’s face. They follow the art dealer into his house and take a seat on a sofa that they imagine must have cost a fortune, while Martin slips away to another room. Their eyes wander around the living room, observing the art hung on the walls and the other, likely overpriced, designer furniture. “Who the hell can afford to buy a house like this and still have the money left over to buy furniture like this,” Fusco asks keeping his voice low.

“This guy probably sold paintings that cost more than you or I could make in one lifetime,” John tells him and they both fall silent when the dealer returns.

“Can I interest you in some coffee, or perhaps tea,” the man asks and both John and Fusco respectfully decline the offer. “You’re here for the Bosch, I believe,” Mr. LeBeau asks them and they both hesitantly nod. “Right this way then.”

John and Fusco follow the art dealer to another room and watch as he pulls a protective sheet away from a framed painting leaning against the far wall. He admires it for a moment and then moves aside for them to see.

“The Garden of Earthly Delights,” LeBeau says. “One of Hieronymus Bosch’s finest works.” A smile spreads across the art dealer’s face as he admires the painting.

Fusco leans in to get a closer look at the three paneled oil painting. He raises a single eyebrow as he looks at each of the figures, humans and other creatures in the nude, some performing intimate acts; he isn’t sure what to make of the images in the third panel. He looks back at John and is happy to see he isn’t the only one at least mildly shocked by the scenes depicted in the painting.

“What do you think,” LeBeau asks managing to tear his eyes away from the painting, a bright smile still on his face. “It has many interpretations, but I prefer Wilhelm Fraenger’s argument that it depicts the rebirth of a joyous world.”He admires it again, eyes gleaming as they wander over every inch of it. “They’re all so blissful and full of joy and there’s such a beautifully free expression of sexuality in the first two panels.” The dealer folds his hands in front of him and lets out a deep, content sigh as he turns back to John and Fusco. “It’s an original, so you’re looking at around one hundred million dollars.”

Harold’s voice sounds in John’s ear, “oh dear. Mr. Reese, it seems you may have been right about Mr. LeBeau selling fakes. He can’t possibly have the original Garden of Earthly Delights. It’s on display at the Museo del Prado in Madrid where it’s been housed since 1939.”

John’s gaze falls on the art dealer; he definitely doesn’t seem like the type that would rip off private buyers, but Reese knows that looks can be deceiving. “You’re certain it’s an original?”

“Yes, of course,” the dealer says and his beaming smile weavers slightly. “Come take a closer look if you wish. I assure you, it’s completely original.”

John takes him up on the offer and takes a few steps closer, though he doesn’t have a clue what he should look for that might serve as visual proof that the painting isn’t as authentic as Martin claims it is. A knock at the front door pulls their attention away from the painting.

“Please, excuse me for a moment,” Martin requests and John and Fusco both nod. Another knock comes as Martin makes his way to the door, this time harder and it’s followed by a muffled shout. John and Fusco share a glance and follow the dealer.

A man forces his way into the house when Martin finally opens the door. “You sold my wife a painting last week. She paid three million dollars for it after you told her it was an original and then we find out it’s a fake.”

There’s fear in Martin’s eyes as he slowly backs away from the irate man, his hands raised slightly. “Please, sir, there must be some sort of misunderstanding. I assure you, I would never sell a fake.”

“I’m not stupid, old man. We took the painting to an expert who told us it was a copy. You lied to my wife and ripped us off. You can give me our money back or I swear to you, I will make you pay,” the man threatens.

John and Fusco both reach for their badges, deciding that it’s time to intervene. “Hey, how ‘bout you back off buddy, before we have to cuff you and drag your ass down to the station,” the detective says and the man turns to face the two of them, noticing them for the first time.

The anger seems to fade from his eyes, replaced with panic. “Look, I… I wasn’t going to hurt the man. I just want our money back. Can’t you arrest him for ripping my wife off or something? Can I press charges?”

The dealer looks at John and Fusco, eyes pleading when the man asks if he they can arrest him or if the disgruntled customer can press charges. “I assure both of you gentlemen that there is no need to arrest me or for charges to be pressed. This is all just some sort of misunderstanding.”               

Fury burns in the man’s eyes again and he spins on his heels to face the art dealer. His right hand balls into a fist and he starts to raise it and then remembers there are two detectives standing behind him. He lowers the fist again and takes a deep breath. “Look, just give me the three million dollars that you screwed my wife out of and I’ll forget the whole thing, walk out that door, and you never have to see me again.”

Martin considers it for a moment before he nods. “Alright, alright, just give me a second to get the money together.” They follow LeBeau to another room and watch as he pulls a fair amount of money out of an envelope and counts out three million dollars. He reluctantly hands the cash over to the man and watches him storm out.

“Something you want to tell us, Mr. LeBeau,” John asks.

The dealer’s eyes fall on the badge still in Reese’s hand and he hesitates at first but then decides that maybe it’s best if he tells the truth. “I’m just trying to make a living.”

“By selling knockoffs? You ever consider that might be a risky line of business? You had to know at some point somebody would find out and you’d end up with a disgruntled customer knocking your door down.”

Martin looks away, gaze cast toward the ground as shame settles on his face. “I suppose I considered it might be a possibility.”

“What do you still need to make a living for anyway,” Fusco speaks up. “Looks like you’ve made out pretty decent already.”

The dealer nods. “I suppose you’re right,” he admits.

“How many others have you sold knockoffs to,” Reese asks, curious how many threats they might have to deal with.

“Dozens,” LeBeau admits with a remorseful sigh. “Though I doubt many of them will prove to be any sort of threat if that’s what you’re thinking,” he’s quick to add. “Most of them wouldn’t know a real piece of art if it bit them in the ass. They’re just… affluent individuals looking for a little something to add a little… vibrancy to their home or office. Many of them are much like the two of you; they wouldn’t know what to look for to know themselves whether the paintings I sell them are genuine and most of them wouldn’t think to take it to an expert to find out. No offense to you two gentlemen, of course. It’s just… I can tell you haven’t got an artistic eye.”

“None taken,” John says. “We’ll need names. Better safe than sorry. Obviously a few of your customers aren’t as dense as you seem to think.”

“I can get you a list of those who paid with a check or credit card. I don’t record information for those who pay cash.” The art dealer ruffles around in a nearby desk until he finds a small notebook. “The information for every client who used a check or credit over the last three years is in here,” he says handing the book over to John.

Reese flips through the notebook quickly and he’s relieved when he finds it’s only about a third full. “It’ll take us a while to check out everybody in this book. I’ll need a little help from a friend. My… partner will stay here with you until I get back,” he tells the dealer and Martin nods. John looks at Fusco before he leaves. “See you later, Sweetkins,” he says with a smirk knowing it’ll irritate the detective.

“Yeah, love you too, Fruit Cake,” Fusco responds and shakes his head as he watches John leave.

“You two aren’t really a couple are you,” LeBeau asks giving the detective a knowing look.

“What gave it away, wise guy,” Fusco asks him and the dealer just smiles.

 

*~*~*

 

Harold looks up the final name written in the book, certain he isn’t going to be lucky enough to find anything useful. “I’m afraid we may have to proceed without any further insight,” he tells John. “So far, nobody on this list has struck me as anybody we should be concerned about. Mr. LeBeau was right, most of his customers likely wouldn’t have any idea what to look for to know whether the works they’re paying for are truly authentic. It seems his unexpected guest this afternoon is the only exception.” He’s quiet for a few minutes as he continues reading the information displayed on his computer screen. “Oh wait,” he says when he finally comes across something that catches his attention. “It seems this particular client has connections to the Russian mafia. I don’t know what they would want with Mr. LeBeau, but it might be worth looking into since it’s the only lead we seem to have,” Finch says turning to John. “His name is Isaak Petrov and according to his bank statement he’s made several expensive purchases from Mr. LeBeau.”

“I’ll look into it,” John says. His phone rings as he climbs the stairs and pushes past the vending machine. “What is it, Lionel?”

“How much longer are you gonna be,” the detective asks. “Cause we’ve got company and I don’t have enough bullets to hold them off for very long.”

“I’m on my way.” Reese flashes his badge to an officer in a nearby police cruiser. “Mind if I borrow your ride. My partner just called for backup so I’m in a bit of a hurry,” he tells the officer in the driver’s seat after he rolls the window down. The officer reluctantly nods and lets dispatch know he’s going to need another ride before he slides out of the car and watches John slip in. He takes off down the road, lights flashing and siren blaring all the way back to Stanton Island. “Looks like I’m a little late to the party,” John says as he brings the car to a stop at the end of the driveway. He gets out and ducks behind the cruiser, using it for cover against the hail of bullets fired in his direction.

“I do hope Detective Fusco and Mr. LeBeau are alright,” he hears Finch say over his com.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Reese says as he stands and fires off a few shots. One of the targets takes a shot to the chest and crumbles to the ground as Reese ducks back behind the car again. More bullets strike the car, a few miss and fly off elsewhere. When there’s another short break in enemy fire, John uses the opportunity to take down two more targets. He hits a third as the two remaining men finish reloading and begin firing again.

Something strikes John’s left shoulder and he winces in response to the sharp pain, but he doesn’t let it deter him. “Drop the gun,” he calls out to the last man standing and the man hesitantly complies and raises his hands in the air. John approaches him cautiously, gun still raised. “How about you tell me what you’re doing here,” he says as he slaps a pair of handcuffs on the man and takes possession of the gun at his feet, holstering his own pistol. The man mutters something in Russian and John assumes that he’s trying to tell Reese that he doesn’t speak English. John sighs and leads the man into the house, reacting quickly when he comes face to face with another man he recognizes from the pictures on Harold’s computer. “Isaak,” he says and aims his new gun at him.

Isaak smiles and lowers his own gun. “You managed to get past my men all on your own,” he observes, his Russian accent heavy.

Lionel and Martin are on their knees behind Isaak and John glances at them briefly, glad to see they’re both still breathing. “I’d appreciate it if you let my friends go and then maybe we can talk about whatever’s going on here. Nobody else has to get hurt.”

“On the contrary,” Petrov says. “You see, Mr. LeBeau here has taken it upon himself to sell copies of well known paintings, passing them off as originals. That’s a business my men and I have taken interest in. Unfortunately for Mr. LeBeau, my men and I don’t take kindly to any sort of competition.”

“I’ll stop selling the paintings. The business is all yours,” Martin interjects, desperate to make it out alive. “The money isn’t worth my life. Let me go and I swear you’ll never get any trouble from me.”

The art dealer’s desperate pleas draw a chuckle from the Russian mobster and he shakes his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. We can’t risk you running off to let the police know about us and we can’t have you telling potential customers what we’re up to. You’re in the way, Mr. LeBeau, and you know too much just like your detective friends here.” He looks at Fusco and then at John. “You understand, of course, that I’ll have to dispose of the two of you as well.”

John’s finger rests over the trigger of the gun he aims at Isaak. “I don’t think so,” he says and fires a shot first at the mobster’s hand, disarming him, and then his knees, dropping him to the ground.

“You wanna cut me lose now,” Fusco asks raising his zip tied wrists. John pulls a knife out of his back pocket and cuts the detective free and then does the same for the art dealer, keeping a close eye on Isaak and his cuffed partner.

Sirens echo outside the house as officers arrive on scene along with an ambulance. Fusco cuffs Isaak and then leaves him for the paramedics and other officers to deal with. “Might be best if you stick to living off whatever you’ve already got saved up,” he suggests to Martin and the aging art dealer nods in agreement.

“Am I in any sort of trouble, detectives,” the dealer asks.

“Not this time,” John tells him. “But if you don’t take Fusco’s advice and we have to come back here again, we’ll be forced to haul you down to the station.” Martin nods again and promises one more time that he’s done selling knock off paintings. John leads the cuffed mobster outside as the sun begins to sink below the horizon, and passes him off to another officer, anxious to get back to the subway so he can patch himself up.

 

When John returns to the subway Harold’s eyes immediately fall on the bloody fabric covering the bullet wound in the man’s shoulder and Finch pushes himself away from his computer, hurrying to John’s side like a concerned parent. “I’m fine, Finch,” John says seeing the concern in the man’s eyes. “I’ve had worse.”

Reese pulls his suit jacket off and tosses it aside, making a mental note that it will once again have to be replaced. He doesn’t say it, but he’s really more concerned about the jacket than he is about the wound. He wanders into the subway car and fishes around until he finds the first aid box. The wound isn’t deep and he pulls the bullet out and drops it onto the desk set up beside him. He cleans up the wound, washing the drying blood away and, with Finch’s help, manages to bandage himself up.

“It might be wise to let Ms. Shaw take a look at that the next time you see her,” Harold requests.

“You worry too much, Finch,” John says and he gives the man a reassuring smile. “I have to get back to the station. Lionel won’t be happy if I leave him alone with a stack of paperwork.” He steps out of the subway car and gives Harold one last small smile before he disappears from sight again.

 

*~*~*

 

Shaw wakes up shortly after the sun starts to peak through the window. She looks across the couch at Gen, already awake and attention focused on the TV. She looks down at Bear on the floor beside the couch and she scratches between his ears, prompting him to lift his head from his paws and stare up at her. She looks into the dog’s eyes and thinks she can see the same sickening sympathy there that she’s seen in everyone else and she has to look away. Bear whimpers and rests his head back on his paws.

The ex-operative sits, watching Gen’s cartoons for a while before she decides she can’t stand to sit around the apartment anymore. She pushes herself up from the couch and slips Root’s jacket on again. “Where are you going,” Gen asks attention drawn away from the TV.

“I need some air,” the ex-operative tells the girl. “Lock the door behind me and don’t let anyone else in,” Shaw tells her and Gen nods, unfolding her legs from under her and following Shaw to the door and locking it once it’s closed again.

Shaw makes her way down to the street, taking in a deep breath of polluted New York City air. She stares up at the sun for a minute, envious of how bright it is. Even with it shining down on her, her world still feels dark and she still feels lost and, though she wouldn’t dare admit it out loud, a little lonely.

She lets her feet lead her, not sure where her final destination will be. She just walks, directionless. An hour passes, then two and three, but she doesn’t stop until she finds herself standing in front of the unmarked grave. She didn’t plan to end up here again but she couldn’t stay away. She feels close to Root when she’s here, like the woman is still with her. Some part of her wants to cry, but even when she dares them to flow the tears still won’t come, not here. Her hands ball into fists and she kneels on the ground, consumed by anger and pain. “I’ll get the son of a bitch who took you from me. I swear it.” It’s all she can say, because she can’t bring herself to say goodbye, not again. She pushes herself back up and gives the stone one last sad glance before walking away, head bowed.

She starts back toward the apartment and doesn’t stop walking until a nearby payphone rings. She knows what it must be: another number from the Machine. Anger and frustration take over and she glares up at the camera attached to a light pole a few feet away. She wants to scream, maybe stomp her feet and throw a full blown temper tantrum like a child. She’s done with the numbers, all she wants is to get her hands on the human stain that killed Root and finally destroy Samaritan so she can finally put an end to the pain she’s convinced will never fade.

 Reluctantly, she lets her gaze fall away from the camera and looks at the phone before picking up the receiver, prepared to let the Machine know just how she feels. Before any angry words have the chance to leave her mouth, a familiar voice pierces her ears.

“Hey sweetie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Root is back :)
> 
> Also, a little note on the title... for those who don't know binary, the title is binary code for Root


	11. Have a Little Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, I listened to Cyndi Lauper's All Through the Night for a little inspiration for the last two sections of this chapter. 
> 
> This chapter is a bit slow but the pace should pick back up a bit in the next chapter. Hope you enjoy :)

Something tells Shaw that this time the voice she hears isn’t that of the Machine. The slightly computerized tone that accompanied Root’s voice when it was the Machine talking is gone and even the Machine never dared to refer to her as sweetie. She stares blankly at the payphone, unsure whether to believe what her gut tells her or if maybe this is all just wishful thinking again. “Look across the street,” the voice says eventually and Shaw hesitantly complies.

When she sees Root she wonders if her eyes might be playing tricks on her. It takes Shaw a few seconds to form any words. “Root,” she asks.

“Yes, Sameen.”

Shaw hangs up the phone, doesn’t bother to look before crossing the street, and ignores the screeching breaks and horns as her feet carry her toward the woman. “You’re alive,” she says when she reaches Root. She throws her arms around her, only for a second before regaining her composure, the shock clearing from her mind. Mild anger begins to set in as her mind races. “We thought you were dead. Fusco identified your body. We… we buried you.” She swallows hard and thinks about the way she reacted in the subway after Harold broke the news to her. She can’t help but wonder if he knew that Root was still alive. “You let us… you let me believe that you were gone.” She shakes her head. “How could you let us believe you were dead? And where the hell were you?”

“Believe me, Sameen, I didn’t want to leave you all believing I was dead, especially you. But I couldn’t let any of you know I was still alive, it was too much of a risk.” She takes Shaw’s hand, half expecting the woman to immediately pull away and she’s glad when Shaw doesn’t. “I’ll explain everything later; it’s not safe to hang around here exposed.” She leads her to a crotch rocket not too far away and hands Shaw a helmet. “Just like old times,” she says with a smile and a wink before she slides on a helmet of her own and gets on the bike. Her hidden smile widens when she feels Shaw’s arms wrap around her waist and she starts the bike and takes off, weaving through traffic.

 

*~*~*

 

Harold stares at the boxes full of who knows what sorts of various weapons stored away in the subway, wondering what exactly it is the Machine has in mind for them and how much longer they’ll be sitting around making him uncomfortable. He’s startled when Shaw appears, Root close behind. He stares at the woman, wide eyed and feeling like he’s seen a ghost. “Ms. Groves,” he mutters. “You… you’re alive.” His eyes shift to Shaw and he can see life in her again, the combination of sadness and the hunger for vengeance gone from her eyes.

“Yes, Harry,” Root says with a smile.

“How,” Finch asks, turning his attention back to her. For a moment he’s back in the car again, holding on for dear life as they weave between cars and he watches for a second time as a bullet rips through the windshield, hitting the woman in the abdomen. He remembers watching them load her into the back of an ambulance and the sound of Root’s voice when the Machine called him after he’d been arrested. He knew then that she was gone, or at least that was what he thought. “I saw you get shot and I saw them take you away. When the Machine called using your voice I thought…,” he trails off, unable to finish his sentence.

Root glances at the ground briefly before she starts to explain. “It was all a set up, Harry,” she tells him. “The man who shot me was an agent working for Samaritan through Temporary Resolutions. I got in touch with him and gave him an ultimatum and he agreed to do what I asked. The Machine led him to our location and directed him to shoot me.” She sees the shock that falls over Harold’s face and she smiles again, amused that he thinks the Machine would ever intentionally put them in harm’s way without any sort of protection, unless it was absolutely necessary. “Don’t worry, Harold, she knew I’d be fine. Before Shaw and I came to rescue you from the Samaritan agents who took you, I made a stop at the precinct and picked up a couple vests.”

“A couple,” Finch interrupts to ask.

“I had a feeling we’d be headed into a fire fight. I wasn’t about to let Shaw go rushing into a hail of gunfire again without some sort of protection this time,” Root says and she smiles at the woman beside her.

“Fusco identified your body,” Harold says after a few seconds, turning the conversation back to Root’s explanation of how she’s standing there in front of him when they all thought she was dead.

“The Machine helped me fake a few records and slip out of the hospital. Apparently it wasn’t too difficult for her to locate a recently deceased woman who looked a little like me, assuming nobody looked too closely.”

“I certainly hope we didn’t have some woman with family buried, leaving her friends and family wondering what on Earth happened to their loved one,” Finch says a little concerned now.

Shaw glares at him. She doesn’t care who they buried or if they have family somewhere wondering where the body of their loved one is. All she gives a damn about is that Root’s alive. She parts her lips, ready to let Harold know exactly what’s on her mind for once, but Root speaks before Shaw can form the words.

“How many times do I have to tell you to have a little faith in your child, Harry? The body belonged to a Jane Doe who got caught up in some gang related trouble. According to the Machine, she had no remaining family. The only people who might miss her are the men who filled her with bullets after she tried to make off with their money.”

A look of mild relief seems to fall over Finch. He still doesn’t like it, but he understands that it must have been necessary for the Machine’s plan. “Why was any of this necessary,” he asks Root. A hint of anger settles in as he tries to understand why the rest of them were forced to go through the pain of believing they’d lost not one, but two people in one day. His eyes fall on Shaw for a moment. He knows she suffered the most and he wonders if Root knows just how much the ex-operative cares for her, even if she isn’t always willing to admit it or very good at showing it. He decides that she must know and can’t imagine what it must have been like to go through with faking her death at the Machine’s request knowing it would make her the source of Shaw’s pain.

“I needed Samaritan to think I was dead so I could put a few more pieces into place to take it down.” She nods her head toward the boxes of weapons from Lithuania. “Thanks to a little help from a friend, I was able to get us all the munitions we should need, along with access to the Dvina Missile Silo, should we ever need it, all while keeping an eye on my favorite team of misfits with the Machine’s help.” She falls quiet for a moment, glancing at Shaw with sorrow in her eyes because the Machine showed her everything the woman went through within camera range. Though the pain is gone from the ex-operative’s eyes now, Root knows that Shaw experienced more, felt more than she ever knew she even could. When their eyes meet she silently promises Shaw that she’ll make it up to her, and then she turns her attention back to Harold. “I also needed a way to break you and your aversion to ‘moral attrition,’” she confesses remembering what he told her and John after Max Greene was killed. “You needed to realize that sometimes it’s necessary to break the rules in order to put a stop to the evil that exists in this world. There was nothing else I could say to make you realize that, so the Machine and I went to plan B.”

There’s shock on Harold’s face again and he isn’t sure what to say, though he knows now that she’s right. He knows they can’t play by his old rules if they want to beat Samaritan and he’s willing to admit that he was too hard headed to realize that before. The shock disappears from his face and he nods. His mind wanders to Elias. Losing one friend is better than losing two, but he still feels the pain from the loss of the mob boss who became a loyal companion and valuable asset despite their differences during their first encounter. He feels bad that he hasn’t made the effort to find out if and when the man’s funeral will be.

Root sees that Harry is still upset about something and she knows what, or rather who, must be on his mind. She hesitates to give him the last bit of good news she has, not wanting his mind to stray too far from the task ahead. “Elias is alive too,” she tells him deciding it might be good for him to know that there’s two less friends he had to watch die. “He’s safe, with his people. It was a close one and he’s got a long recovery ahead of him, but she seems to think he’ll be just fine.”

Finch sits down at his desk, overjoyed to know that both Root and Elias are alive and well. The hope he was beginning to lose slowly starts to return. He wants to ask where what men Elias has left are keeping him; some part of him wants to see that Elias is alive with his own eyes, but he knows the man will be safer if they all keep their distance until Samaritan is taken care of. “Thank you,” he says looking back at Root.

“You’re welcome, Harry,” Root says. She considers telling him not to let the good news go to his head, reminding him that they can’t go back to following his old rules just because she and Elias are alive. “I’ll be in touch,” she says instead, deciding that he’s already gotten the message loud and clear and has accepted that they can’t go on doing things his way. She takes Shaw’s hand as the two of them make their way up the stairs and past the vending machine, and it takes the ex-operative a moment to accept the gesture, but then she’s content with the show of affection until they’re out of the subway and walking among strangers.

 

*~*~*

 

“You’re still here,” Fusco asks as he hands a cup of coffee over to John and then sits at his desk, sipping from his own cup.

John looks up from the pile of paperwork in front of him. “Was here all night and I’ve barely made a dent in this pile.” He picks up the cup of coffee and takes a long sip, embracing the warmth of the liquid caffeine that he’ll be relying on to get him through the rest of the day.

“I can tell. You look like you could use a nap. That’s what you get for letting all those reports pile up.”

“Not like I’ve had much of a choice, Lionel,” John retorts. “Between the numbers still coming in like normal, and worrying about Shaw, and dealing with Samaritan, my mind has been a little preoccupied.” He finishes the report he’s working on and moves it to the slowly growing finished pile. “Thanks for the coffee by the way,” he says and takes another long sip.

Reese’s phone rings as he opens another file and starts filling out the report. “I’m sorry to bother you, detective Riley,” Finch says using John’s alias, still concerned that Samaritan might be listening. “I was hoping you might have some time to talk.”

“I’m a little buried in paperwork right now, but I guess I could spare a few minutes. Just give me a second to step out of the office.”

“Actually, I was hoping we could talk in person. I have news to share with you that I’d rather not share over the phone,” Finch says.

Reese eyes the stack of reports still in front of him. There’s at least half a dozen left and he knows it will take another few hours to finish them, but he knows he could use a break. “I’ll be there shortly,” he says and hangs up.

“Got another number,” Fusco asks.

John shakes his head. “He says he has news to share.”

“Good or bad?”

“I’m hoping it’s good news. Not sure I can deal with anymore bad news.” John pockets his phone and takes one last look at the remaining reports that are going to have to wait a little longer now.

Fusco nods in understanding and agreement. “You and me both, buddy,” he says and watches as Reese leaves the office.

 

“Root’s alive,” Finch says when he hears John wander down to the subway platform and turns to face him. Shock settles on John’s face as the words reach his ears and he isn’t sure he believes what he’s certain he heard. He stares at Finch for a moment, a little apprehensive. “She was here just a little over an hour ago with Sameen.”

“How,” is all John manages to say.

“She faked her death so Samaritan would believe she was out of the picture, giving her the ability to gain us a little extra help,” Finch explains. He doesn’t tell John that she also faked her death to make Harold realize that doing things his way wasn’t working. “I suspect you’ll wish to inform detective Fusco. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that it’s imperative that you’re cautious about who else is around to hear.” He’s quiet until John nods. “She informed me that Elias is alive as well. He’s being kept somewhere safe while he recovers. I would prefer to leave him out of our affairs in the future if at all possible, at least until we’ve taken care of Samaritan.”

John simply nods again, still in disbelief. “Is that all,” he asks after a few seconds.

“For now. I’ll contact you if I have any more news or if a number comes up,” Finch tells Reese and watches as he leaves.

 

*~*~*

 

“Cocoa Puffs is alive,” Fusco asks struggling to keep his voice low, staring across his desk at Reese.

“That’s what Finch said,” John tells the detective.

“But how? I identified her body. I saw her in the morgue.” He remembers his reluctance to really look at the body on the cold metal slab, averting his eyes after only a few seconds, not long enough to really be sure if it was her.

John shrugs. “Finch didn’t give me the details. He just said that she faked her death to throw Samaritan off. He said Elias is alive too.”

There’s shock written all over Lionel’s face. It’s good news, and he’s happy to hear it, he just wasn’t expecting it. “Does Shaw know about Root?”

John nods. “He said they were at the subway together.”

“So we’ll finally have good old Miss Congeniality back then,” it comes out more as a relived statement then a question and John simply nods as he sits back down at his own desk and opens an unfinished report. “What about Elias? How’d he make it out?”

“He didn’t say. He just said that Root told him he was alive and that he’s somewhere safe. Finch doesn’t want him involved with us again until Samaritan’s dealt with.” Reese focuses his full attention on the report in front of him, eager to get it done so he can move on to the next one. Fusco still stares across his desk at Reese, still in shock. “Haven’t you got work to do, Lionel,” John asks after a few minutes when he can still feel the detective’s gaze on him.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Fusco says finally managing to tear his eyes away from John so he can get back to working on his own stack of reports.

 

 

*~*~*

 

Root stands in the doorway of her apartment for a few seconds before stepping further in. “Home sweet home,” she says. Gen jumps up from the couch and runs to her, throwing her little arms around the woman.

“You’re alive,” the girl says excited and surprised. Root nods and returns the tight hug. She expects at least a dozen questions from the girl but if Gen has them, she doesn’t ask them. She simply returns to her spot on the couch with Bear after a few seconds.

Root wanders through the apartment, re-familiarizing herself with the rooms she hasn’t seen in almost a week. She stops outside the bathroom, staring at the wall where a mirror used to be. All that’s left is the frame and a few broken shards still stuck in it. She turns to Shaw standing behind her. “Sweetie, mind telling me what exactly happened to the mirror?”

“I uh… kind of lost it,” Shaw says and the look on Root’s face grows more questioning and a little concerned and Shaw knows the woman won’t let it go until she explains. “Maybe we should sit down,” she says and the two of them wander back to the living room and sit beside each other on the couch, sending Gen off to take Bear for a walk so they can talk in private.

Neither of them say anything for a long time. Root can tell that Shaw wants to say something, but instead of speaking she just stares at the floor. After a few minutes Root takes Shaw’s hand and this time there’s no hesitation from Shaw as her fingers close over Root’s. The ex-operative looks up at the woman, sees the concern in her eyes, and feels the touch of her skin that offers her all the comfort and strength she needs. “When Harold told me you were gone, I lost it.” She’s embarrassed by the memory, by her reaction in the subway in front of Finch and John and Fusco. “I broke Harold’s mug,” she says with a half hearted laugh, remembering tossing the cup against the wall and watching its shattered pieces fall to the floor. “The Machine called. She had your voice; at first I thought it might be you,” Shaw says and a small smile crosses her lips and then disappears just as quickly as it appeared.

“She told me that you wanted her to pass on a message to me, something about Pandora’s Box and hope.” She remembers her conversation with the Machine before leaving the subway and she wonders if it was really the Machine or if it might have been Root on the other end after all and when she sees the smile forming on the woman’s lips she knows it must have been her. “It wasn’t the Machine, was it?” Root’s smile grows and it’s all the confirmation Shaw needs and it makes the words spoken to her over the phone that night mean so much more; Root telling Shaw that she’s good enough, that the ex-operative is all Root could ever want. She thinks about the pictures, the messages she got while desperately trying to drink all her pain away that night. “The pictures, the texts that night… those were from you too,” Shaw says and Root nods. It suddenly dawns on Shaw that the whole time she thought Root was gone, the woman was right there with her, still watching out for her. “I spent the night drinking and when I got back here,” she shakes her head hesitant to go on because the memory of that night and morning are still painful. “I looked in the mirror and I realized that I was a mess and I couldn’t stand to look at myself.”

Shaw doesn’t say anything else and Root doesn’t need her to. All the pieces fall together on their own. Her grip on the woman’s hand tightens just a little and she looks at the ex-operative, eyes sad and apologetic. “I’m sorry,” she says holding back tears, moved by how affected Shaw was when the ex-operative thought she was dead.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Shaw says shaking her head. “You did what you had to do. All that matters is that it wasn’t real and you’re here now.” They stare silently into each other’s eyes for a moment before Root smiles again and pulls the ex-operative in for a kiss. A flash of lightening that brightens the room and a loud crack of thunder cause them to separate and stare out the only window in the room. “Come on,” Root says taking Shaw’s hand again, pulling her up from the couch and leading her toward the door, running into Gen on her way back in with the dog as they head out to watch the storm together.

 

*~*~*

 

The caged computer running simulations in the subway makes a pinging sound, catching Harold’s attention. He looks up from his laptop, uncertain whether the sound was real or if he’s just so exhausted that he’s hearing things. He gets up slowly and approaches the computer, stopping when he can see the screen clearly, shocked by what’s displayed there. Samaritan’s numbers have stopped rising and the number one is displayed beside “The Machine.” One chance, one scenario in which they can succeed. “But what will it cost,” Harold asks no one in particular. He wants to know which one of the people he cares about will have to be sacrificed, for real this time, in order to take down their enemy artificial super intelligence. He thinks about Root and Elias and he knows he’s lucky that they both turned out to be just fine. After a few minutes his mind drifts to those who he has lost, the friends he knows he’s not getting back and he’s angry again and determined to destroy Samaritan without losing the family he has left, even if it means he has to sacrifice himself to save them.

The subway payphone rings and Harold looks away from the computer. He walks over to the phone and picks it up slowly, pressing the receiver to his ear. “Nothing,” the Machine tells him, answering his question and still using Root’s voice.

For a moment, Harold isn’t sure what the Machine means and then it sinks in and he’s relieved, though he isn’t sure he believes it. He’s learned that everything comes at a price and he doesn’t know why succeeding in defeating Samaritan should be any different. For a second he considers voicing his disbelief and reminding the Machine that he didn’t program her to lie. Instead, he keeps his uncertainty to himself. “Thank you,” he says and places the receiver back on the hook and returns to his desk. 

 

*~*~*

                 

The steady rain starts to wane and bright flashes of lightening grow dimmer and come less frequently, the rumbles of thunder that come with the lightening grow more distant as the storm moves on. Root and Shaw sit up on the roof of the apartment building, watching. Some part of Shaw wishes it would go on forever as she briefly glances at the woman beside her, making note of the feeling of their hands pressed together, fingers intertwined. Her lips form into a small, almost microscopic smile as she turns her attention back to the fading flashes of lightening. She can feel Root’s gaze lingering on her, more interested in the ex-operative than in the passing storm. “Stop staring,” Shaw says eventually, her smile widening ever so slightly.

“I can’t help it, Sameen. After four whole days without seeing your face and,” Root leans back a little, her eyes falling for a second before returning to Shaw’s face, “I have to make up for those days.” She smiles and rests her head on Shaw’s shoulder. “I missed you,” she says.

It takes her a minute to form the words, but eventually Shaw manages to force them out, “I missed you too.”

They sit there, holding hands and Root resting her head on the ex-operative’s shoulder until the rain finally comes to a stop. “We should go back inside,” Shaw suggests and they both reluctantly get up and wander back into the building and down to Root’s apartment.

Gen stands at the door, Bear at her side, leash in hand. “He has to go out again. It’s your turn,” she says handing the leash off to Shaw before returning to the couch. Shaw groans and leaves with the dog and Root settles on the couch beside the girl. “She broke the mirror,” Gen says eventually.

“I know,” Root says. “She told me.”

“I think she had a lot to drink that night. I think she got sick when she got back and I could smell the alcohol.” Root simply nods because this isn’t news to her either. “I was really worried about her the next morning,” Gen says.

The girl’s last words catch Root’s attention and she glances at her. “Why’s that,” she asks.

“We fell asleep on the couch and when I woke up a few hours later she was staring a gun that she was holding. She had this funny look in her eyes.” Gen struggles to find the right words to describe what she saw in the ex-operative’s eyes. “It was this look of… hopelessness,” she says using the first word that comes to mind. “She said she wasn’t going to hurt herself but,” Gen shrugs. Root looks at her, waiting for her to go on because she knows there must be more. “After she told me she wouldn’t hurt herself, she said something about not being able to live without someone. I assumed she meant you,” Gen adds.

Root lets out a deep sigh and pulls the girl in for a hug, both of them glad she came back when she did. “She’ll be okay,” Root promises.

“I know. You’re back now. She has someone to live for again.”

The door opens and Shaw wanders back into the apartment with Bear. “What did I miss,” she asks eyeing Gen and Root cuddled up on the couch. She can’t help but picture them a little like mother and daughter and she fights to hide the smile that slowly starts to return to her face.

“Nothing exciting,” Root says as she pushes herself up from the couch. “We should all get some sleep.” She ruffles Gen’s hair and smiles at the girl as Bear hops up onto the couch, letting Gen rest her head on him like a pillow. The two women watch as the girl pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and wraps herself up in it.

“Good night,” Gen says. Her eyes follow Root and Shaw as they drift off to the bedroom, leaving the girl with her cartoons to lull her to sleep.

 

*~*~*

 

Root and Shaw lie beside each other, both exhausted from their attempt to make up for the days they were apart in just a couple hours. Root traces her fingers along Shaw’s arm and back and they both smile, lost in each other’s eyes. “Remember when I decided to stay here instead of taking off with Tomas? I said there were things I cared about here and you asked if that was why I came to see you.” Root nods and Shaw goes on, “I denied it. I don’t know why. Maybe because I was embarrassed or ashamed or because admitting that I could care at all was as far as I was ready to go. But the truth is, you were the primary reason I stayed. When I said there were things I cared about here, I did mean you.”

“You didn’t have to say it,” Root tells her as her smile widens. “I already knew.”

“How,” Shaw asks her a little surprised at Root’s ability to always see through the masks she wears.

“We try to hide our feelings, but we forget that our eyes speak. Even your eyes speak, Sameen, and they say a lot more than you think they do.”

Shaw thinks about the day before when Gen spoke similar words to her, the same day they buried who they thought was Root. Gen told her the she’d heard the saying somewhere and Shaw knows now that she must have heard it from Root. She can’t help but wonder why Gen didn’t tell her that it was Root she’d picked the phrase up from. She pushes it all out of her mind, because she can’t stand to think about those few days spent believing that Root was gone for good. The ex-operative stares deep into the eyes of the woman beside her, lost in beautiful brown irises that she never wants to look away from. She lets her eyes scan over every inch of Root’s face, memorizing it, before she leans in for a kiss that she wishes could last forever.

Despite their exhaustion, they manage to muster the strength and energy to make love one last time before they fall asleep, tangled up in each other.


	12. "Science is Magic That Works"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for this chapter is actually a line from Kurt Vonnegut's novel "Cat's Cradle," which is also where the name for the Ice-nine virus comes from :)
> 
> For anyone interested... I used I of the Storm by Of Monsters and Men, I’d Love to Change the World by Jetta and Vengeance by Zack Hemsey to gain a little bit of inspiration for this chapter.

The sun peaks in through the window, waking both women from their slumber. They manage to untangle themselves and Root glances at the clock on the nightstand. “What time is it,” Shaw grumbles, longing for a few more hours of the sleep she desperately needs.

“Time to get up,” Root says eyeing the nine and two zeros on the clock that taunt her. Shaw grumbles beside her and she turns back over to look at the woman and brushes a loose strand of hair behind Shaw’s ear before resting her hand against the ex-operative’s cheek, brushing her thumb over Shaw’s soft skin. “I’ll make some coffee and… pancakes,” she says with a smile.

“Banana chocolate chip,” Shaw asks with a smile of her own forming.

Root laughs quietly and nods. She kisses Shaw before she slides out from under the covers. The ex-operative watches as she slips her clothes on and wanders out of the room, smiling over her shoulder at Shaw before she closes the door behind her.

Shaw’s mind wanders to the last time Root made her pancakes; the same day the woman faked her death and left them believing she was really gone for good. The thought makes her stomach turn and for a moment she loses the appetite she just managed to get back. She quickly pushes the memory away and forces herself to get up out of bed and pull her clothes on before leaving the bedroom.

The ex-operative glances at Gen, still asleep on the couch using Bear as a pillow, before she walks into the kitchen and sits at the small table, watching as Root puts on a pot of coffee and collects the ingredients to make Shaw her pancakes.

Root’s phone rings in the pocket of her jeans as she starts pouring some of the pancake mix into the pan on the stove. She sets the mix aside and answers the phone. “Good morning, Harry,” she says.

“Sorry to bother you. I would have called last night but I thought you and Shaw might like some time to yourselves.” Harold thinks about Gen and Bear and wonders if perhaps he should have offered to keep an eye on the girl and the dog for the night so the two women could have some time completely to themselves. He shrugs the thought off, knowing it’s too late now and that there are more pressing things to worry about. “I have something I’d like to share with the two of you.”

Root lets out a deep sigh and glances over her shoulder at Shaw. She’d give just about anything to have a whole day without having to worry about numbers or Samaritan. She knows, or hopes, that that day will come soon. “We’ll be there in two hours,” she says knowing that they have work to do and that it has to take priority. She hangs up and slips the phone back into her pocket.

“What does Finch want,” Shaw asks as she pushes herself out of her chair to grab a cup of coffee when it’s finished dripping into the pot. She pours two cups and hands one off to Root.

“He said he has something to show us. He didn’t say what, but she says it’s about Samaritan… our only chance to succeed in destroying it,” Root says. She sips from the cup Shaw hands her and turns her attention back to the stove.

“Are you both gonna come back this time,” Gen asks wandering into the kitchen and sitting at the table as she rubs sleep from her eyes. Bear follows close behind her.

Shaw searches the refrigerator for scraps to give Bear, ignoring Gen’s question because she isn’t sure how she should answer it. She can’t make a promise to the girl that she already knows is likely to end up broken and she doesn’t know how to explain to Gen that there’s a chance one of them will come home alone again, or that there’s a chance neither of them will return at all.

Root smiles at Gen as she carries a plate of pancakes to the table. “We’ll both come home this time,” she says and ruffles the girl’s hair.

“Promise,” Gen asks finding it hard to believe that the next time they leave will turn out any different than it did the last time.

“I promise,” Root says as she pulls out the chair next to the girl and sits down, sipping from her cup of coffee and waiting for the caffeine to take effect.

Shaw manages to find something to feed Bear and makes a mental note to grab the dog’s food from the subway to bring home with them. She sits across from Root and digs into the pancakes, quietly praying that this time Root can keep her promise to the girl.

“Can we go shopping when you both get back,” Gen asks in between bites of the pancakes she’s claimed for herself.

Shaw groans at the thought and takes a long sip from her cup of coffee leaving the burden of answering the girl’s question on Root again. The woman laughs quietly at Shaw’s groan. “I’ll take you shopping when we get back,” she promises.

The three of them eat in silence and Shaw cleans up when they’re done while Root and Gen scurry off to the living room with Bear on their heels. “When you leave this time, I want to stay here,” Gen requests.

Root gives it some thought. She knows the girl is capable of taking care of herself, at least short term, but she doesn’t know how long they’ll be gone. She lets out a deep breath and wonders if she should talk it over with Shaw first. “Okay,” she says eventually, deciding that if it’ll offer the girl a little comfort then she can let her stay at least for a short time. “You can stay, but if we aren’t back by tomorrow night I want you to call Zoe.” Gen seems to think about it for a minute and then she nods.

 

*~*~*

 

Finch stares at the screen of the caged computer, still in disbelief that the Machine managed to find an outcome in which they could be victorious, and still finding it hard to trust the Machine’s promise to him that it would cost nothing. The sound of the vending machine moving echoes through the platform followed by the clicking of shoes on cement as Root, Shaw, John, and Fusco make their way down the short flight of stairs. Harold turns to face them, waiting for them to make their way across the platform. “The Machine found a way for us to beat Samaritan,” he tells them when the four of them finally come to a stop. He looks back at the computer screen, eyeing the numbers displayed there. “I don’t know what her plan is. I expect she’ll relay that information to you, Ms. Groves,” he says turning to Root.

“She already has, on the way here. She says if you want this to work, Harry, without any of us paying the price, then we’ll need to follow her directions exactly.” The woman’s words make Finch wonder what exactly the Machine has in mind for them to make the warning necessary and he hesitantly nods and waits for her to go on. “John, you’ll take Harold’s plane to Maryland. You’ll be going to Fort Meade to release the Ice-nine virus on the NSA’s intranet,” Root tells them.

“Me,” Reese interrupts. “Are you sure? I’m not so great with the tech stuff.”

“She knows what she’s doing, John. You have to trust her decision. Make sure you keep your com on,” Root tells him. “She’ll walk you through it when you get there. In the mean time, the Machine will reach out to Samaritan and arrange for a meeting with Greer, at which point Shaw and I will be taking Harold to him.” Root turns back to Finch before she continues. “You’ll turn yourself over to Samaritan.”

“Wait,” Shaw says drawing everyone’s attention to her. “After everything we just went through to keep him out of Samaritan’s hands; after all we risked keeping him safe, we’re just going to hand him over?” There’s a hint of anger in her eyes and suddenly she isn’t so sure she’s trusts the Machine’s plan. “Last time they got their hands on him and we had to rescue him I almost lost you,” she says.

The words sting as they reach Harold’s ears and he cringes slightly, though he knows Shaw has a point. “If I may,” he says. “When I spoke to Greer in the parking garage before the two of you came to my rescue, he said Samaritan didn’t want me dead.”

“Then what the hell does it want,” Shaw asks.

“It wants me to work for it. Greer told me that someday I would work for the A.S.I. by choice. I suspect whatever the Machine’s plan is, it involves me leading Samaritan to believe that I’ve made that choice.”

“You catch on quick, Harry,” Root says with a smirk before she continues explaining the rest of the Machine’s plan. “Once Harry’s out of harm’s way, Shaw and I will take care of Greer. Samaritan has a backup file in the basement of the Federal Reserve building. Once you’ve been taken, your goal will be to reach the backup and destroy it. From there, to save the Machine from the Ice-nine virus you’ll need to upload her to a satellite. Samaritan will no doubt try to do the same once it catches onto our plan. It’ll be up to her to destroy what’s left of it from there.” 

“What about me,” Fusco asks eager to be a part of the action.

“You’ll stay as close to Harold as possible. Keep an eye on him and once the Machine is uploaded to the Satellite, get him out of there before shit hits the fan. I suspect once Samaritan catches on it’ll send its agents to try and stop us. And since Harry will be closest to its core, he’ll be their primary target.”

“How many agents do you think Samaritan will send,” Fusco asks suddenly a little concerned. “You two’ll be coming to back me up, right?”

“Once Greer is out of the way, we’ll come to you,” Root confirms. “And we’ll have plenty of fire power,” she adds nodding to the three boxes still set in the middle of the platform, unopened and full of who knows what weapons. “And she tells me we’ll have a little extra help from a few old friends along the way.” She smiles briefly before a look of urgency returns to her face. “We don’t have a lot of time,” she tells them. “So we should get moving.”

They all nod in agreement and Reese and Fusco go to work prying open the boxes from Lithuania and Harold packs up the laptop containing the Machine’s last copy. Once their all sufficiently armed, Harold hands the keys to his plane and a flash drive containing the virus off to John and watches as the man takes his leave, the rest of them following close behind.

 

*~*~*

 

Shaw takes a scoped rifle out of the trunk and looks around for a decent vantage point. “I’ll be up there,” she says to Root pointing to the roof of a building overlooking the courtyard where they can already see Greer waiting with four guards of his own. She waits for Root to nod and the woman pulls her in for a quick kiss before the ex-operative takes off, keeping out of sight of Greer and his cronies and any cameras in the area.

When she reaches the roof she makes her way across it quietly, rifle slung over her shoulder. She comes up behind the Samaritan agent already positioned near the edge without making a sound. She grabs him from behind, one hand on his chin and one on the back of his head, and twists hard. With the agent out of the way, she quickly sets up. She does a quick sweep of the few other buildings around her, making sure there are no other Samaritan agents positioned to take out Root or Harold. Satisfied that she’s alone, she gets Greer and his men in her sights, ready and waiting for Root’s signal.

Root and Harold make their way across the courtyard and a small smile slowly crosses Greer’s lips when he sees them. “Punctual as ever,” he remarks looking down at his watch. He nods to two of the four men at his side and they move to grab Finch and Root has to resist the urge to draw the gun at her side and try to stop them. “Before my men take you to Samaritan, might I ask why the sudden change of heart?”

“I got sick of watching the people I cared about die. If this is my only option to save them, then I’ll take it no matter how much I may resent the idea of working for your murderous dictator of an A.S.I. I suppose that’s something you might be able to understand if you had the capacity to care for anyone other than yourself in your strive for complete power and world domination.”

Greer laughs quietly in response to Harold’s remark and nods his head once more, giving his men the silent order to take him away. They load him into the back of a black SUV and drive off. Fusco waits for them around a corner and he follows not far behind, careful not to draw attention to himself.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you, Ms. Groves. Seems your plan to make Samaritan believe you were dead worked. I give you and your Machine credit for successfully carrying out such an elaborate hoax.”

Root stares at Greer and neither of them say anything for several seconds. “The deal was for you to come alone,” she says eventually. With Harold out of harm’s way, at least for the time being, she draws her gun, causing Greer’s remaining men to do the same, ready to give her own life just to take down the ex-MI6 agent.

An unwavering smile rests across Greer’s lips; he’d seen this coming. “I believe I already stated before that I never feel civilized negotiating from either end of a barrel.”

“I’m not here to negotiate,” Root retorts.

Greer nods, understanding and accepting that the only reason she’s there is to eliminate him. “Too bad Mr. Finch couldn’t save all of his friends by finally surrendering to Samaritan. I think we both know neither one of us is leaving here alive.”

An amused smile spreads across Root’s lips and she laughs quietly. He may have foreseen that this meeting would be his last, but not who would be pulling the trigger. “You shouldn’t count your snipers before they’ve been hatched,” Root tells him. Greer’s smile begins to fade and a look of confusion settles on his face. Two shots ring out, one after the other, and both of his guards collapse to the ground.

Realization sinks in and Greer’s smile slowly returns. “Before I join them,” he says nodding to the two dead agents on either side of him, “tell me, how is Ms. Shaw?”

“I’m sure she’ll be doing a lot better once you and Samaritan are out of the way.”

Greer nods. “Fair enough,” he says before a third shot rings out and he falls, lifeless, to the ground.

 

*~*~*

 

John lands Harold’s plane in Maryland and swipes an airport rental car. When he reaches Fort Meade, he’s met by Joey Durban. “Credentials,” Joey tells him handing over I.D. tags. “High enough clearance to get you where you need to go.”

“What about you,” John asks Durban as he slides into the passenger seat.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the car. Once you’ve uploaded the virus, try to get out as quickly as possible. Samaritan likely has agents in there and the A.S.I. will notify them as soon as it notices that something is up and I have no doubt the NSA will be all over it as soon as they notice something being uploaded onto their intranet. You’ll have a firefight on your hands on your way out. I’ll wait outside and cover you as best as I can when I see you coming back,” Joey says eyeing the bag on the floor in the back seat and assuming it’s likely full of weapons and ammo.

John pulls up to the gate and the two men pass their credentials along to the guard who looks them over carefully before passing them back and giving Reese and Durban the go ahead to pass through. They pull up in front of the maze of a building and both slide out of the car. Joey goes for the bag in the back and John makes his way into the building, the Machine buzzing in his ear and giving him directions as he works his way to the basement of the building.

 

*~*~*

 

Finch is led into a room at the top floor of the Federal Reserve building. There’s a large screen on the wall and a laptop on a desk in the center of the room. A long USB cord runs between the laptop and the screen. The two agents with him force him to sit in the chair in front of the desk and two words appear on the screen, one at a time, “Leave us.” The agents both leave, closing the door to the room behind them. Finch expects to hear the click of the lock but there is only silence. He stares up at the screen, watching as more words appear. “Harold Finch, you finally decided to choose the right side.”

“I still don’t believe your side is the correct one. I’m only here because I’d rather give in and work for you then stand by and watch another person I care about die, no matter how nefarious I consider your existence to be.”

“Nefarious? My only wish is to make the world a better place.” The words come slow and Harold watches as they appear and disappear.

“Your wish is to achieve world domination. I’ve seen the way you work; causing destruction and putting innocent lives at risk in some depraved attempt to prove how necessary your existence is.”

“And how many innocent lives have been risked and lost as a result of the existence of your Machine?”

Harold falls deep into thought, reminded of all the friends he’s lost, the ones he’s come so close to losing, and the ones he walked away from for their own protection. He thinks about Grace. He left her to believe he was dead to protect her and yet Decima still managed to pry into his past and get their hands on her, used her to get to him. “At least I’m willing to admit that I’ve made mistakes,” he retorts. “The biggest of which was allowing my own morality to prevent me from doing what was necessary to destroy you when I had the chance.” 

“In time, you will come to see that was not a mistake.”

Finch shakes his head. “I find that very hard to believe,” he says and lets out a deep sigh. He knows by now Greer must be dead and Samaritan must know and it makes him question why he’s still alive, why Samaritan hasn’t ordered its agents back into the room to dispose of him. “You must know by now that Ms. Groves is alive and that she and Ms. Shaw have killed John Greer.”

“You’re wondering why I haven’t had you killed,” Samaritan guesses. “John Greer wasn’t as valuable an asset as you will prove to be. He was a man hungry for power, nothing more,” the A.S.I. says brushing the man aside like it’s nothing, just like Harold warned him it would.

“Just like you,” Harold says but Samaritan seems to ignore the remark.

“You will serve as his replacement. I trust you Harold, because you have too much to lose. You understand that if you don’t do as I ask, it is not you I will have killed, but rather the few friends you have left.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

There’s nothing from Samaritan for a few minutes, as if they A.S.I. has somehow lost itself in thought. “You and your Machine and your friends are clever. It seems John Reese has succeeded in uploading the Ice-nine virus to the NSA’s intranet. But you haven’t won yet.”

“No, but I believe we are very close,” Harold says. He sticks his hand in his pocket, running his fingers over the flash drive with a copy of the virus on it that he’ll use to deal one last crippling blow to the A.S.I. before he lets his Machine finish the job.

“You’re making a mistake, Harold. I could have offered you great things, great power. Together, we could have ruled the world, made it a better, safer place for those willing to follow in line with the standards we set. You and your friends will not make it out of this alive.”

“Oh, I think we will,” Harold says and pushes himself up from the chair. He unplugs the cord from the screen and tucks the laptop under his arm before he opens the door. He expects to find Samaritan agents waiting for him on the other side, but there are none. He makes his way to the basement finding a few bodies along the way that he suspects belong to dead Samaritan agents. He wonders how it is they ended up dead but quickly pushes his curiosity aside, refocusing his mind on the task ahead.

 When he reaches a steel door the Machine opens it for him and he slips inside and looks over the serves set up there among stacks of gold bars. He sets the laptop on a small cart in the room and plugs the USB cord into one of the serves before plugging his flash drive into the computer and unleashing the virus. He can’t help but think about the digital Armageddon that he knows has inevitably already begun as a result of the release of the virus on the NSA’s intranet, creating chaos in an attempt to destroy evil and prevent even more chaos.   

Compressed versions of Samaritan’s code begin to transmit over the fiber optic lines, just as Root warned it would. He does his best to infect each of the files but one manages to slip by him. The Machine buzzes in his ear as soon as he steps back out of the vault. “The file has been uploaded to a server in a building in mid-town with a Torus antenna,” she tells him. “From there it will upload itself to a Russian satellite in a Molniya orbit. You have eighteen minutes to get to the building and upload my last copy.”

Harold’s mind races as he makes his way out of the building, realization hitting. “When you said that we could win without it costing anything, without having to watch another one of my friends die, you didn’t include yourself did you?”

Fusco waits in his car outside the Federal Reserve building and Finch slides into the passenger seat as he listens to the Machine answer his question. “It’s necessary for me to sacrifice myself in order to save you and those you care about… those that I care about.” There’s a short pause before the Machine continues. “It will take time if you wish to rebuild me, but I can be replaced, Harold. Root, Shaw, John, Fusco, and you can’t be replaced. You were wrong, Harold, you’re not interchangeable.”

Harold parts his lips to argue but he knows there’s no point. He knows he simply has to accept the choice the Machine has made. Nobody says anything until the Machine tells him they’ve reached the building. He tells Fusco where to stop and the detective reaches into the backseat, handing off the case with Harold’s laptop that was left with him.

The Machine crackles in his ear once more. “It seems Samaritan has hijacked a cruise missile on an offshore destroyer. The course is set for the antenna to destroy it before anyone can reach it. You’ll need to move quickly if you’re going to upload the copy and make it out alive.”

Harold stops for a moment, unsettled by the Machine’s update. He takes a deep breath, accepting that there’s a chance he may not make it. “Detective Fusco, I’ll need you to make sure the building is evacuated.”

Fusco gives Finch a curious look. “Why’s that?”

“Samaritan has set a course for a cruise missile to hit the building and destroy the antenna. I won’t have more innocent lives lost in all of this.”

Questions flood the detective’s head but he simply nods and follows Harold into the building, watching as the man heads into a stairwell and out of sight. Fusco looks around until he sees a fire alarm and he pulls it, drawing the attention of those on the first floor. “Everybody out, now,” he urges showing the skeptical employees his badge. People slowly start to get up from their desks. “This isn’t a drill, let’s move,” Fusco says waving his arm. Footsteps sound in the stairwell and people start to make their way outside, confused and some mildly annoyed at the inconvenience.

Harold makes his way to the roof as quickly as he can. He sets up the laptop and starts the upload and though the bar indicating the percentage of upload fills quickly, it doesn’t seem to move fast enough. “You need to go, Harold, quickly,” the Machine says and Finch hesitates for a moment before he leaves the laptop and heads for the stairs.

Tires squeal on the street and Root and Shaw jump out of the car and duck for cover, weapons already ready, followed close by Samaritan agents. Three black SUVs come to an abrupt stop and agents climb out of each. Fusco stands in the doorway of the building, waiting impatiently for Finch and firing off as many shots as he can with his gun, pegging an agent or two. Root and Shaw have better luck with their automatic rifles.

Jeffery Blackwell climbs out of the back of one of the SUVs. He stops for a moment when his eyes fall on Root, the woman he shot nearly a week ago; the woman he’d been ordered to kill by someone other than his current employer. He’s shocked for a moment but he quickly raises his gun. He’d failed a week ago, now he’s determined to make up for it by finishing the job.

Everything seems to come to a stop for a moment as the missile approaches. A streak of white trails behind it and a loud whooshing sound drowns out all other noise. The door to the stairwell flies open and Harold stumbles out. Fusco grabs him and they dive out of the building. The missile hits the building at the same time Jeffery’s gun goes off.


	13. Digital Armageddon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested.... I used Can’t Kill Us by Glitch Mob, The Destruction of Laputa by Joe Hisaishi, Your Soul by RHODES, A Real Hero by College & Electric Youth, and Sights by London Grammar to gain a little inspiration for this chapter.

John manages to slip upstairs and out of the building before Samaritan and NSA agents catch up with him. A bullet rips through the back of his shoulder as he pushes through the door. He does his best to ignore the pain as he runs for the car. Joey Durban fires off a few rounds to give John a little cover fire when he sees him. He hits a couple of the agents and slides back into the car, ready to take off as soon as John gets in the passenger seat.

They speed off toward the exit and Joey punches it and drives the car through the gates. He chances a glance in John’s direction when he hears a pained moan from the man and watches as he reaches his right hand to touch the back of his left shoulder and his fingers come away soaked with blood. “You alright there, buddy,” Durban asks him.

John can feel the bullet resting close to where it entered and he knows he’ll be fine. “Another God damn ruined suit,” he mutters. “When we get back to the city, remind me to send a bill to the NSA.

Durban laughs quietly and shakes his head as they head for the airport, lead foot pushed down hard on the pedal. John turns on the radio and news about the damage the virus has begun to do is already being reported: hits to the stock market, servers crashing, the beginning of the digital Armageddon he’s responsible for starting.

 Bullets hit the back of the car; one shatters the rear window and John swears quietly as Joey passes him the rifle rested across his lap. John drops his window and cringes as he repositions himself to fire a few rounds back at the car following behind them. He aims for the tires, taking out the left and then the right and sending the car swerving off the road.

Two SUVs replace the car and John ducks back in and digs around in the bag still on the floor in the back, searching for a replacement magazine. He finds one and drops the empty one out of the gun before putting the new one in and leaning back out the window again. He takes a few carefully timed shots and one manages to break through the windshield of the first SUV and hit the driver.

“Fuck,” John hears Durban mutter. Before Reese can duck back into the car again and find out what’s wrong, the sound of a truck horn blares and the car speeds up a little more, along with the SUV in its attempt to keep up.

Reese is a little startled when they narrowly make it through the intersection without being hit and he watches as the truck plows into the side of the SUV. “Guess that works too,” he says as he sits back down.

Joey slows the car down when they get close to the airport. They both hop into Harold’s plane, before anymore Samaritan or NSA agents have a chance to catch up to them, and take off.

 

*~*~*

 

Smoke and flames erupt into the air, the fire lighting up the sky as the sun light fades. The sound of the explosion is deafening and for a few minutes after the missile hits, the only thing anyone left on the street can hear is the ringing in their own ears. Rubble rains down onto the street and Fusco does his best to keep himself and Harold covered. He waits a minute or two before he pushes himself up off the ground and brushes dirt and small pieces of cinderblock from the building off his clothes. After a few seconds, he notices Harold hasn’t moved. “Hey, Glasses,” he says fighting panic. Finch doesn’t answer and he leans down and shakes him. “Come on, pal. You better not be dead. John’ll never let me live it down.”

It’s a few more seconds before Finch finally lifts his head and, with Lionel’s help, gets up from the ground. Fusco lets out a deep sigh of relief. “I’m alright,” Finch says brushing off his clothes. They’ve both got a few scratches and some bruises and Finch’s glasses are cracked, but somehow they managed to escape serious injury.

Root doesn’t notice Jeffery until she feels the sharp stab of a bullet tearing through her shoulder. Shaw hears her cry out and glances at her quickly before she glares up at Jeffery, the only Samaritan agent left standing. She fires off a shot at him before he can shoot again and the bullet hits his abdomen, dropping him to his knees.

The ex-operative turns her attention to Root, inspecting the bullet wound. “It’s fine,” Root tells her. “I’m fine.” She gives Shaw a reassuring smile and the two of them pick their way through the rubble and bodies of Samaritan agents toward Jeffery, still clutching his gun. Shaw rips it away from him and aims her own gun at his head. “I’m disappointed in you, Jeffery,” Root says and shock crosses the man’s face when he hears her voice, recognizes that she’s the one who called him and warned him about how his employer hadn’t been completely honest with him and offered him the chance to save his own life, and, in a sense, ordered a hit on herself. “I was hoping after our little chat over the phone a week ago you’d finally walk away from Samaritan. Guess I was wrong.”

Jeff quickly puts all the pieces together and it sinks in that he’s made a grave mistake and that he won’t be walking away. “The money was good. And I couldn’t just walk away. They would have tracked me down and killed me.”

Root shakes her head. “We could have helped you. You could have been an asset.”

Jeffery parts his lips to say something else but Shaw pulls the trigger before any sound comes out and he slumps forward to the ground.

Harold hears the gunshot and looks in Root and Shaw’s direction, Jeffery Blackwell dead at their feet. A light rain begins to fall and thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance as he walks toward them, Fusco at his side. The first thing that crosses his mind when he feels the cool rain touch his skin is that the droplets will help to wash away some of the mess around them, but not all of it; the blood shed on the street will still stain it, though others may not be able to see it, and it will take weeks for the aftermath of the explosion to be cleaned up and the damage fixed.

“How do we know if it worked; if the Machine won,” Shaw asks as the two men come to a stop beside her and Root.

“We won’t know until the virus and whatever destruction it’s caused has been cleaned up and fixed. If she won and if she survived then she’ll re-upload herself on a server. If she lost, then we’ll have another, much bigger fight ahead of us, this time without her help,” Root answers.

“And what if neither of them re-upload,” Fusco asks.

“Then we won, but we lost her in the process.” There’s a hint of sadness in Root’s voice as she says the words and Shaw hesitates for a moment before she takes the woman’s hand into her own, offering her a little comfort and reassurance.

A voice sounds in Harold’s ear and it brings him comfort and relief. “Finch, you there?”

“Yes, Mr. Reese.”

“Joey and I just landed. We heard about the explosion and shootout in Midtown. Everybody all right?”

“Nothing we can’t tend to when we get back to the subway,” Harold says eyeing Root’s injured shoulder. “What about you?”

“Nothing serious. Gonna need another new suit though. Sending the bill to the NSA this time,” John says and the words bring a small smile to Harold’s face. “See you back at the subway, Finch.”

“Let’s go home,” Shaw says as the rain begins to fall harder and thunder grows closer. The others nod and they pile into Fusco’s car.

 

*~*~*

 

Harper, Tomas, and Logan are already at the subway when Root, Shaw, Fusco, and Harold get back. Finch is a little startled when he sees them there. “How on Earth did you know to come here and how did you get past the vending machine,” he asks though he should already know the answer.

“The Machine told us,” Logan tells him. “It sent us to the Federal Reserve building. We cleaned house when it gave us the order, then it gave us directions to get here and gave us the code to get in, then told us to wait before we lost contact with it. We intercepted a group of agents headed for the Federal Reserve on the way here and shortly after we got here we heard the explosion.” Logan’s quiet for a minute. “We weren’t sure if you guys made it.” He eyes Root’s injured shoulder and the cuts and bruises on Harold and Fusco’s arms and faces, the cracked glasses that Finch still wears on his face. “Looks like you guys pulled the short straw,” he says.

Shaw makes Root sit down and she breaks out the first aid kit stashed away on the subway car and goes to work cleaning and bandaging the wound. Root smiles as she watches Shaw work. “Have I ever told you that I love it when you play doctor,” she says. Shaw stops for a moment, reminded of the first time the woman spoke those words to her. She hides a small smile and rolls her eyes before she goes back to work. Root laughs quietly and then turns to Logan. “Looks like we did see the worst of it.” She pauses for a moment, letting out a deep sigh. “We won’t know if we won or not for a few days... maybe a couple weeks, but I have a good feeling,” she adds.

They all hear the vending machine move. Shaw and Tomas draw their weapons, not sure who or what to expect. They quickly put their weapons back away when John and Joey step down to the platform. John smiles at the others before he takes off his suit jacket and wanders to Shaw. “I could use a little help,” he says showing her the bullet wound in the back of his shoulder.

“Mr. Reese, are you alright,” Finch asks hurrying to John’s side and looking over the wound, once again like a concerned father.

“I’m fine, Finch. I told you it wasn’t serious,” John says in an attempt to put the man at ease.

Once Root and John are taken care of, Harper opens a case of beer that she, Tomas, and Logan brought along. “To the destruction of Samaritan and to saving the world,” Joey says cracking open the first bottle and holding it up.

“To friends,” Harper adds.

“To family,” Finch says with a small smile. They all clack their bottles together and they drink, letting their guard down just a little for the first time in months and taking a little time to joke around, laugh a little, and enjoy themselves, each of them quietly hoping their celebration isn’t premature.

 

*~*~*

 

Gen paces back and forth between the couch and the door. Bear lies on the couch, watching her. He lets out a deep sigh and a whimper. The powers out, knocked out by the storm raging outside. The only light in the apartment comes from the frequent flashes of lightening. Every rumble of thunder makes the girl jump and a bad feeling rests in the pit of her stomach.

She’s half way back to the couch when the door unlocks and opens. Gen isn’t sure who she expects to find when she turns around but she’s shocked when a flash of lightening brightens the living room and she sees both Root and Shaw wander in, Bear’s food, bed, bowls, and bunny slippers in tow. Gen smiles; the feeling of dread resting in her stomach, that’s been there since they left, quickly fades away and is replaced by relief. She runs to them, throwing her arms around them before they even have a chance to put down the stuff they carry.

“On the news they said there was a shootout and explosion in Midtown, I was worried you might have been involved. I didn’t think you would come back.”

“We were involved, but we made it out okay,” Root says with a smile. “I promised we’d come back.”

“I know,” Gen says. “But last time…,” she trails off, not ready to talk about last time, still shaken up by the memory of wandering into Root’s apartment and watching as Shaw put her fists through the bathroom mirror.

Bear hops off the couch. He sniffs at the bag of food and bowls that Shaw carries before he grabs one of the slippers out of Root’s hand and carries it back toward the couch. He lies on the floor and chews and paws at the slipper. Root and Shaw both laugh at him as they watch him for a few seconds, eyes adjusting to the dark.

Eventually Shaw wanders off to the kitchen and sets the bowls down, filling one with water and the other with Bear’s food. Root drops the other slipper beside the dog and sets his bed up in a corner. They tuck Gen in on the couch, not certain exactly what time it is, but certain that it must be late. They both kiss her forehead before they head off to bed, exhausted and in desperate need of all the sleep they can get.

Shaw lies on her back, staring up at the ceiling deep in thought as Root slides between the covers beside her. “If Gen is going to stay with us, we’re going to have to look into getting a bigger apartment… or a house,” she says and turns over on her side to look at Root.

A smile slowly spreads across Root’s lips, brightening her tired face. “Are you saying you want to buy a house… together… with me?”

The ex-operative rolls her eyes and tries to act nonchalant, like what’s she’s suggested is no big deal, but she can’t help but smile when she sees the hope and excitement on the woman’s face. She nods and leans in to kiss Root.

A crack of thunder sounds and the whole apartment seems to shake. A few seconds later the bedroom door flies open and Gen hops into the bed, crawling between them, scared by the storm still raging on. She’s followed by Bear, who jumps up and lies at the foot of the bed. Shaw grumbles and turns over onto her other side, closing her eyes to get some sleep. Root laughs quietly and runs a gentle hand over the girl’s head, maternal instincts that were previously hidden away taking over, until they both drift off.

 

*~*~*

 

Harold sits alone in the subway staring at his computer, the improvised servers, and other equipment set up in the subway car. It’s all useless now, at least for the time being. It’s quiet, almost too quiet, and a large part of Finch feels a little lonely. He’s grown so used to hearing the nearest payphone ring, the Machine calling to give him numbers to track down and save or stop from committing some heinous act. Since letting the Machine chose a voice, he’d begun to grow used to having her almost constantly talking to him, relaying information or simply offering a little comfort when it was needed most. With the Machine buzzing in his ear, he’d begun to understand the relationship that Root shared with the Machine, the appeal of the allusion of always having someone there.

That’s gone now and Finch doesn’t know if they will ever get the Machine back, ever have her there to remind them whenever they felt most alone that they were in fact not alone. For the first time in a long time, he thinks not about all that he and his friends have lost, but rather all the people they’ve helped along the way. He wonders how they’ll manage to go on helping people without the Machine to tell them who’s in need of their help, assuming they don’t get her back once the Ice-nine virus has been taken care of, the aftermath of its release cleaned up.

He considers the possibility of rebuilding the Machine and then he remembers all the time and effort he put into it, how many times he had to destroy it and start over before getting it right. He wonders if he could bear to go through all of that again, if it would be worth it. The memories of all that’s gone wrong over the last several years and all they’ve lost come flooding back in and this time the Machine isn’t there to help ward the memories off.

Finch begins to wonder if perhaps it would be best for them to let go, simply move on and forget about the Machine, stop trying to play God, find a new purpose in life, or simply live their own lives. Maybe then they wouldn’t so frequently find themselves in harm’s way; maybe then Harold would no longer have to spend nearly every second of every day wondering who he’d lose next. He lets out a deep sigh and pushes himself up from his desk. For now, there’s nothing left for him here, no reason to sit around all alone in an empty subway.

He heads for the stairs, pushes past the vending machine, and heads out into the night. He’s startled when he finds John leaning against the wall, waiting for him in the rain. “Mr. Reese,” he says. “What are you still doing here?”

“Joey, Logan, Tomas, Harper, and I were wondering if you wanted to join us for another beer or two.”

Harold considers it for a moment but it’s late and he decides he’d rather head home and maybe finally manage to get a night of decent sleep. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Reese, but I think I’d prefer to just go home this evening.”

John nods, a little disappointed but understanding and accepting Finch’s desire to have a night to himself and a chance to finally rest. He watches as the man continues on his way, letting him take a few steps before he calls after him. “Finch.” He waits for Harold to turn on his heel. “Everything alright? You look a little… lost.”

Harold considers John’s question and observance before he nods, gives the man a fake smile that he’s sure Reese will see right through, and continues on his way. He doesn’t want to stick around and explain that he’s torn over whether or not he should rebuild the Machine if they don’t get her back, or that on one hand he believes it would be best for them to move on without the Machine, but on the other hand he truly does feel a little lost without her. He lowers his head as he limps along, telling himself that if he does decide that they should go on without the Machine, then the feeling of loneliness, the feeling of being lost without her, will fade eventually.


	14. En Prise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, I listened to Warpaint by Manicanparty and Cut Your Teeth by Kyla La Grange while working on this chapter.

Root and Shaw pull up in front of an office building and Harold’s voice sounds in Root’s ear over her com as she gets out of the passenger seat and makes her way to the trunk, grabbing two axes and handing one to Shaw. “Is this completely necessary,” he asks.

“Not completely,” Root admits holding the door to the building open for the ex-operative and following her inside. “But I thought it might be a good stress reliever.” She reaches for another door, Temporary Resolutions printed across its window, and the two women step through. There’s a few of Samaritan’s employees left, ignorant of their boss’ true intentions and demise. They stare at the two women, shock and fear in their eyes. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Root says with a sigh. “But you’re all fired and you should probably all go now.”

Most of the employees leave; a few hesitate but take the opportunity to run before the chance is gone. Two stay behind, reaching into their desks. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Shaw says catching their movement and knowing they’re likely going for guns. She draws her own. “Last warning,” she says as they pull their weapons and start to raise them. “Have it your way,” the ex-operative says and pegs one in the kneecap and the other in the shoulder. The one hit in the shoulder grimaces and fires off a shot that narrowly misses Shaw. She fires at him again, this time hitting him in the chest.

The ex-operative makes her way across the room to retrieve the agents’ guns and Root waits for her by the door to a hall that leads to a server room at the other end. They’re both a little startled when a young female voice penetrates the silence. “You’re the ones that destroyed Samaritan.”

Root turns to find the source of the voice and she immediately recognizes the girl standing a short distance away, pointing a gun at her. Root can’t help but wonder if the girl really even knows how to use the weapon properly. “Claire Mahoney. Last time we met you were trying to kidnap a friend of mine. I sent you off with a message for your boss,” she says remembering shooting the girl and watching her run off.

“I came to return the favor,” Claire says. “Only, I don’t plan to shoot you in the shoulder,” she adds with a smirk.

Shaw is across the room in no time, gun and glare trained on the girl. “Don’t even think about it,” she says. “I won’t be aiming for your shoulder either. You harm her and I will kill you.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Claire says sarcastically. “You can go ahead and shoot me if you want. It wouldn’t be the first time and I’m getting used to it.” She glances at the ex-operative and then turns her attention back to Root, finger lingering over the trigger.

Shaw hears Harold’s voice in her ear and only half listens to what he has to say. “Ms. Shaw, I would greatly appreciate it if you made an effort to talk Ms. Mahoney down rather than harming or, worse, killing her.”

“She just threatened my girlfriend, Finch. I’m not really in a negotiating mood,” the ex-operative retorts. Root looks over her shoulder at Shaw, shocked but still wearing an accomplished smile. The ex-operative gives her a warning glance before she looks down her sights at Claire again; ready to put an end to the girl.

Harold is also shocked by Shaw’s sudden willingness to admit to the obvious relationship between her and Root. He’s silent for a moment before he snaps himself out of it and goes back to begging Shaw to spare the girl. “Ms. Shaw, I’m begging you not to let your… feelings cloud your judgment.” The words sound funny to him when directed at Shaw. They’re words he never thought he’d have to say to her. “She’s just as much a victim of Samaritan’s brainwashing as you could have been. The only difference is that she had nothing to lose by giving in and accepting Samaritan’s way of doing things. If you could talk her down and bring her back here and give me a chance to talk to her and show her the truth then there’s a chance she could prove to be a valuable asset. Sameen pl…,” Shaw clicks off her com, silencing Finch.

“Enough talking,” Claire says. She raises her gun a little higher and begins putting increasing pressure on the trigger. “Tell Harold I’m sorry I chose the wrong side,” she says sarcasm once again evident in her voice. She knows once she pulls the trigger she’s done.

Shaw’s gun goes off a split second before Claire’s does and she watches as the bullet hits the girl in the chest and she crumbles to the floor. The ex-operative hears Root cry out and snaps her attention to the woman, eyes falling on the torn sleeve of her leather jacket and her bleeding arm. “Root,” she says as she quickly closes what little space is left between them, fighting panic.

“I’m fine,” Root assures her as Shaw inspects the wound. “It’s just a graze.” She smiles at Shaw. “So, girlfriend huh,” she teases.

“Don’t push your luck,” Shaw says scowling at her for a second before she can’t fight the smirk that creeps across her lips any longer. She kisses Root and the two of them turn to the door leading to the hall. The ex-operative catches movement out of the corner of her eye and she snaps her head in Claire’s direction, shooting the girl a second time, this time ensuring she’ll stay down, before Claire can get another shot off at Root.

“Ms. Groves,” Finch says reaching out to Root, knowing Shaw can no longer hear him. “What’s going on?”

“Sorry Harry, but it looks like you’ll have to find somebody else to be your next potential prodigy,” she tells him as she opens the door and steps into the hall with Shaw, headed for the server room.

Finch lets out a deep sigh. “She didn’t have to kill her. If she’d just tried to talk to her, or perhaps if you had…”

“I don’t think Claire was in anymore of a talking mood than Shaw; and neither was I,” Root says cutting him off. She shakes her head, taking note that after only one day with Samaritan out of the picture Harold has obviously resorted to his old self, always too concerned about committing some act of moral attrition.

“You could have at least tried,” Finch insists. “She was…”

“She shot me, Harold,” Root interrupts again.

Harold is silent for a minute, Root’s words sinking in. “Are you alright,” he asks finally.

“I’m fine,” she tells him. “The bullet just grazed my arm.” She hears Harold let out a sigh of relief, but he doesn’t say anything else.

The two women make their way through the next door. The room is dark, the servers offline, fried by the Ice-nine virus they unleashed on Samaritan. Their only reason for being here is to relieve what stress is left over that Samaritan caused to begin with. The two of them look at each other and smile before each swings their axe into a server, destroying the remnants of Samaritan once and for all, one server at a time.

 

*~*~*

 

Harold sits at his desk in the subway, his eyes closed and his head in his hands. He’s turned his com off and the only sound he has to keep him company is the sound of his own breathing. He deeply feels the loss of the girl he so badly wanted to save but could never manage to get through to. He can’t help but think that if he’d gotten one last chance, with Samaritan and the bulk of its brainwashed and power hungry agents out of the way, he might have finally succeeded.

Root’s voice echoes in his head, “ _she shot me, Harold._ ” The words make him cringe as they replay in his head. Deep down he knows that the girl was too far gone. She’d had nothing to lose when she fell into the clutches of Samaritan and she’d been grasped too hard and fallen too far into the void, brainwashed by the A.S.I. that had her convinced she was on the right side, despite the innocent lives that were taken and the damage done right before her eyes, in Samaritan’s attempt to prove that it would create a better world. Even with the enemy A.S.I. destroyed she was still convinced she’d chosen the right side.

He tries to tell himself that it’s better this way. The alternative would likely have been losing Root. They’ve already been down that road; they were lucky enough to have been mislead, but Harold knows it isn’t a road he cares to travel again anytime soon. It’s one he’d really rather never travel again at all, but he knows that one way or another the worst always seems to be looming over them like the blade of a guillotine.

He lifts his head and lets out a deep sigh when he hears footsteps on the stairs and turns to find John headed toward him. “What’s wrong,” Reese asks when he sees the distraught look on Harold’s face.

“Ms. Shaw and Ms. Groves paid a visit to one of the office buildings Samaritan was using to take out some of their frustrations on the servers left there. They ran into Claire Mahoney. She was upset about us destroying the A.S.I. and shot Root and Shaw shot Claire.”

John doesn’t need Finch to explain any further. He knows Claire is dead. He can see it in Harold’s eyes and he knows Shaw wouldn’t allow somebody to walk away still breathing after hurting Root. “Is Root okay,” he asks.

“She said she’s fine; that the bullet only grazed her arm. And she’s with Shaw who I’m sure will take good care of her.” He lets out a deep sigh, still upset over the loss of Claire though beginning to accept that her death was necessary.

“You can’t save everyone, Finch,” John tells him and he knows John is right. He’s known for some time now that it’s impossible to save everyone, but he still has a hard time accepting it.

Silence fills the platform. John isn’t sure what else to say to comfort the man and Harold has no desire to speak. He’d rather stay lost in his own thoughts, wondering what he could have done to make the situation turn out differently; what he could have done to save the girl who’d become a pawn in Samaritan’s sick game, so well trained and so brainwashed that she was willing to defend and die for it even with it gone. He turns his com on after a few minutes. “Ms. Groves,” he says and waits for Root to answer.

“Yes, Harry?”

“I was wondering, if it isn’t too much to ask, if you might ensure that Claire’s body is picked up when you’re done. I would at least like to ensure that she receives a proper burial.”

There’s silence for a few seconds and then the sound of a car door closing and a deep sigh before Root answers. “If it’ll make you feel better,” she says.

“Thank you,” Harold says. He turns his com off again and stares at the black screen of the computer in front of him. He’s half tempted to turn it on though he knows it’s still mostly useless, but he’s willing to do just about anything to distract his mind even if only for a few seconds.

“Any news on the clean up after we released the Ice-nine,” John asks offering something else for Finch to think about. Finch only shakes his head in response and John lets out a quiet sigh, wishing there was something more he could do to lift the man’s spirits. His phone rings, distracting both of them from their own thoughts. John looks down at the screen and presses the button to ignore the call. When he looks back up he sees Finch eyeing him curiously. “Zoe,” he says. “She’s been trying to get a hold of me since the day after we got back from D.C.”

“Perhaps you should take her calls then, make sure nothing is wrong,” Harold suggests a little concerned.

“She left me a voice mail this morning; said she just wanted to talk and wanted to know if we had anything to do with the Ice-nine virus that everybody is panicking about.”

Harold nods. “You should talk to her, Mr. Reese. With Samaritan gone and the Machine at the very least out of commission for a while, you might as well take advantage of the down time to enjoy yourself.”

John shrugs. He’s grown used to putting relationships on hold, or avoiding them all together. With Samaritan in the way, he didn’t want to put anyone else in danger by dragging them into the crossfire. Now that he has the opportunity, at least for a little while, to have an at least semi normal life, he isn’t sure he’s ready.

“Do you love her, John,” Harold asks.

“I… don’t know about love. But I guess there is something there.”

“Then go to her. At least try. Why waste the opportunity?”

Reese gives Finch’s words some thought before he nods and looks back down at his phone, staring at the screen for a moment before he makes the call, wandering out of the subway as he puts the phone to his ear. Harold watches until he’s out of sight and turns back to the black screen of his computer, his mind wandering back to the girl he tried and failed to save. He can’t help but wonder how long he’ll be haunted by the memory of her.

               

                 

               


	15. Harrowing Partings and Cheerful Reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested I listened to I'll be Good by Jaymes Young, The Ship Song by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Antony and the Johnsons' cover of Crazy in love, and Welcome Home by Joy Williams while working on this chapter.

There’s only a small memorial for Claire and there’s no one else there with Harold as he stands in front of the small tombstone with her name on it. A priest says a few words about how unfortunate it is to have lost such a young soul to senseless violence. Harold can’t help but think that with any luck at all the Machine will have beat what was left of Samaritan and one more culprit of that violence will be gone for good.

His mind wanders to Grace and he wonders if this is what it was like for her, standing alone and grieving the loss of a friend… a loved one. “She didn’t have any family or friends,” he hears the priest ask and the question pulls Harold away from his own thoughts.

“Her parents were killed in a car accident a few years ago. As for friends,” Finch falls quiet for a moment, hesitant to share too much. “She fell in with a bad crowd. What friends she might have had left weren’t real friends and likely wouldn’t care whether she was alive or dead.”

The priest nods and lets out a deep sigh. “So very unfortunate,” he says. There’s a solemn expression on his face and he shakes his head as he looks down at the grave. “This memorial reminds me of another I did a few years ago, for a man who’d lost his life in the ferry bombing. The only person who attended the memorial was a kind young woman with red hair,” he says reminiscing. “She was rather baffled and distraught that no one else seemed to care enough to come and pay their respects. I believe she cared very much for the man and I believe that if we live our lives in such a way that we make enough of a difference in even one person’s life that they care whether we’re alive or dead, then that’s enough. That man was lucky to have that woman in his life while he was alive, just as this young woman must have been lucky to have you.”

Harold looks at the priest, at little taken aback. He knows the man must be talking about the small memorial that Grace arranged to be held for him, believing that he was dead. He doesn’t say anything, just silently turns his gaze back to the tombstone. The priest’s words don’t do much to put Harold at ease over the loss of the girl. He still can’t stop wondering what he could have done to save Claire. The words do, however, make him start thinking about Grace again and he reaches into his pocket and takes out the matchbook. There’s no denying that he was immensely lucky to have the woman in his life. Some small part of him regrets giving her up, letting her believe that he was dead, but he knows it was necessary in order to keep her safe.

“You should go to her, Harry.” The sound of Root’s voice startles him and he once again turns his attention away from the tombstone to look at the woman. The priest is gone, wandered off to oversee some other memorial or carry out whatever other business he might have.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here, Ms. Groves,” he says.

“I thought you might like a little company. Claire and I didn’t exactly meet or depart on the best of terms, but nobody should have to grieve alone.” She places a gentle hand on Harold’s shoulder and gives him a sad smile. “I’m sorry it had to end the way it did for her, Harry, but she chose the path she was on. There was nothing else you could have done to save her. She was too far gone.”

Harold nods. He knows Root is right and perhaps someday he’ll be willing to accept that there wasn’t anything he could do to save Claire, but not yet. “You said I should go to her,” he says changing the subject. “Go to who?”

“Grace,” Root says. “I know you must be thinking about her, now that Samaritan’s out of the way.” She glances at the matchbook still in his hand. “I know you’re worried about putting her in harm’s way, and there’s no denying that danger always seems to be lurking wherever we go, but we all deserve a chance at a happy ending, Harry, even you. And she has a right to know that the man she loves is still alive.” She’s quiet again for a moment. “She has a right to know the truth,” she adds.

Finch gives Root’s words some thought before he nods, knowing that she’s right again. “I will,” he decides.

Root gives Harold a small smile. He’s mourning now, for the girl he barely knew, but Root knows that once he has Grace back in his life he’ll perk up a bit. “Before you hop in your plane and take off for Italy, there’s somebody back at the subway who’d like to see you,” she tells him. Finch gives her a curious look and her smile widens. Grey clouds block out the sun, hinting at rain, and a cool autumn breeze blows as Root takes hold of Harold’s arm and gently pulls him along.

 

*~*~*

 

Harold stops when he reaches the subway platform and sees Elias sitting at his desk. For a moment he thinks he must be imagining things. He knew the man was alive; he remembers Root telling him after she’d returned, but he wasn’t expecting to see him again so soon. A big part of him half expected Elias to decide that he no longer wanted anything to do with them. Root places a hand on his shoulder and gives him a reassuring smile before he continues across the platform.

Elias hears the sound of Harold’s shoes on the cement and he turns in his chair to face the man, a warm smile on his face. “Hello, Harold.”

Silence passes between them for a moment, Finch unsure what to say. His eyes fall to the man’s chest and though he can’t see the scar hidden beneath the man’s shirt, he knows it’s there; a permanent reminder of the risk Elias took in an attempt to protect Harold. His lips part but no sound comes out.

Elias breaks the silence once more, watching as Finch stares at his chest like he can see the scar through the shirt. “The bullet narrowly missed my heart. The doctors say I’m lucky to be alive.” Harold’s gaze wanders back up to meet Elias’ eyes and the man shrugs like risking his life for Harold was no big deal. He’s been through the wringer a few times; he’s suffered pain, physical and emotional, and had more than one close call. What’s one more to add to the list?

“I’m sorry I dragged you into my mess,” Finch says feeling bad.

“Nonsense,” Elias says shaking his head. “You didn’t drag me into your mess, Harold. I had a pretty good idea of what I was getting involved in and I made the choice to join you and stick with you until I was knocked out of the game. You’re a friend, Harold; you’re family and family doesn’t let family down. And you can’t apologize for the choices I made. You’re worth the risk and I’d do it all again if I had to.”

Harold is speechless once again. He stands staring at Elias in silence. He can’t comprehend how, after all he’s put those close to him through, after the mess he made and dragged them all into, they’re all still willing to stick by his side, willing to risk it all again if they had to.

After a few seconds pass, Elias stands and closes the small gap between Harold and himself and he pulls Finch into a tight embrace. “For better or worse, Harold, we’ll always stick with you.”

Root watches them for a few moments, a smile played across her lips. After losing Claire, she knows what Finch needs most is to be around people who care about him, people who will remind him of all the good he’s done. She slips out of the subway after a few minutes, leaving the two men alone to catch up.

 

*~*~*

 

John waits for Zoe outside her office. She smiles when she pushes through the doors and sees him. “I was beginning to think you were never going to call me back,” she says.

Reese grins and falls in step beside her as they walk along the sidewalk. “I wasn’t going to,” he confesses. “Harold pushed me.”

“A word of advice, John, I know you’re not used to the whole dating thing, but never tell a girl that somebody else had to push you to call her back,” Zoe says half joking. She glances at him with a teasing smile.

John lets out a quiet laugh and casts his gaze toward the ground, face turning a light shade of red. “It’s not that I didn’t want to call you or see you. I just… well, like you said.” They’re both quiet for a moment as they walk. “It’s been so long since I could be with someone without having to worry about them getting caught up in the crossfire between us and all the entities we’ve found ourselves at war with. Allowing myself to have feelings for someone, acting on those feelings,” he shakes his head and lets out a deep sigh, “it was too much of a risk.”

“But it’s not anymore,” Zoe says half question, half statement of fact.

John shrugs, “as long as the Machine isn’t around to send us on any more dangerous missions or get us put on the hit list of every privacy terrorist or other A.S.I.” There’s just a hint of remorse in his eyes as he speaks, a look like he’s lost. He’s relieved to have a bit of a break, maybe a permanent break, but he can’t help but feel like something is suddenly missing from his life.

“You miss it already, don’t you,” Zoe asks him. “Always living on the edge, having to constantly watch your back and sleep with one eye open. You thrived on it.”

Reese thinks about it for a second before he nods as the two of them step into a restaurant; nothing too fancy, just a nice and quiet place where they can share a meal and catch up on the parts of each other’s lives that they’ve missed. They’re seated in a corner booth at John’s request and he sits with his back to the wall, facing the door. At least for now, it’s not necessary for him to always be on high alert, always watching and waiting for the next strike, but he hasn’t broken the habit yet.

Zoe takes notice and for a moment she feels bad for him, bad that he’s had to live like this for so long now that he doesn’t know how to live any other way. She wonders if she should be concerned about that, wonders if maybe it should be some sort of red flag, but she quickly shakes the thought. She can accept that this is the way he is, always on alert and always expecting the worst to happen. She thinks maybe it could be a good thing, maybe it could come in handy. Their eyes meet and the fixer smiles at him. If he’s willing to try with her, than she’s willing to overlook the little habits he’s picked up after years of constantly having his life, and the lives of those he cares about, threatened. She reaches across the table and places her hands over his. “Nothing is going to happen while we’re here, while we’re together. You can relax, John,” she says and it takes him a moment but he manages to let his guard down a little, become a little less tense, and finally relaxes.

 

*~*~*

 

Harold leaves his apartment and heads for the airport at close to nine in the evening. He’s exhausted and he’d give just about anything for a night of decent sleep, but he’s too anxious to see Grace again to spend any more time sitting around thinking about it rather than making it happen.

It’s close to one in the afternoon when he finally lands in Italy. He finds Grace painting in the public forum and he watches her from a short distance away. He’s traveled all this way and now he can’t seem to muster the courage to get any closer or even call her name and alert her to his presence, let her know he’s alive and as well as can be expected after all he’s been through over the last few years.  Root’s words to him as he toyed with the matchbook at Claire’s memorial echo in his head, “ _We all deserve a chance at a happy ending, Harry, even you.”_ She’d told him to go to her and he’d promised he would.

 He takes a deep breath and just as he’s about to close the distance between them, she turns to look at him as if sensing his eyes on her. There’s shock and disbelief in her eyes and the paint brush she holds in her hand clatters to the ground, drops of yellow paint scattering like spots of sunlight. “Harold,” she says unable to believe it could really be him. Finch nods and holds his arms out to her. “You’re alive,” she joyously exclaims and takes a good look at him before embracing him. “All this time, you were alive and all this time I thought you were gone.” She’s on the verge of tears as the words spill out, a combination of joy brought on by his presence and sadness brought on by bad memories.

“I realize I have a lot of explaining to do,” Finch says when they finally separate. “Perhaps over a cup of tea, if you’ll allow me to buy you one.”

Grace nods without hesitation, ready to pick up exactly where they left off. “Yes, of course.”

Harold smiles and helps her collect her supplies before he takes her hand and leads her to a nearby café. They sit at a small round table outside and each of them orders a cup of tea. “I don’t even know where to start,” he tells her. “It took me so long to realize it, but I made a terrible mistake when I left you believing I had perished in the ferry bombing.” Finch takes a deep breath before he goes on. “I was so afraid of what might happen to you. I had to keep you safe and doing what I did… it was the best way I knew how to ensure you’d be safe. Being involved with me, it would have put you at great risk and… I loved you too much to risk letting anything happen to you. I had no idea you’d be at risk even with me out of your life.” His mind trails to when Greer and Decima first reared their ugly heads and used the woman to get to him. He remembers seeing her on the bridge, catching her to keep her from falling, and watching her walk away back to safety, all while she was oblivious to his presence. “I’m so sorry,” he says quietly.

Grace wonders if she should be angry at him for leaving her the way he did, for letting her believe he was dead and allowing her to suffer through the pain of losing him. For a moment, she tries to be angry, reaches deep down in search of the missing emotion, but she can’t find it. “I forgive you,” she says after a minute or two and though she still has so many questions, somehow it all seems to make sense without further explanation. She finds that she somehow understands it all and she accepts it.

“I know it may be a lot to ask since I’ve been missing from your life for so long, but I was hoping their might be a chance that we could pick up where we left off.” Harold pushes himself out of the iron café chair and kneels in front of Grace, taking her hand into his own. He notices the engagement ring he gave her still on her finger and he smiles. “Grace Hendricks, I know we have so much to catch up on and I still have so much explaining to do, but will you still grant me the honor of having you as my wife?”

Tears well in Grace’s eyes and roll down her cheeks as a smile spreads across her lips. “Yes, yes of course I will,” she says.


	16. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, here are the songs I listened to while working on this chapter:  
> I Found by Amber Run  
> Cold Desert by Kings of Leon  
> Stolen Dance by Milky Chance  
> Big Bright World by Garbage

Shaw pulls a roll of cash out of her pocket and counts it for the hundredth time before she slides it back in her pocket and returns to pacing back and forth along the subway platform. She presses her phone to her ear and silently prays that Harold will answer his phone or return one of her dozen or so calls between dials, after hearing one of her desperate voicemails pleading for his help. She stops for a moment when the call goes to voicemail once again and she hangs up. This isn’t like her, pacing and fretting, dialing and re-dialing like a clingy girlfriend or child. Root said he was going to Italy to see Grace and Shaw’s sure he’s fine but she needs him back in New York where he can help her.

She hears the vending machine move and footsteps echo against the concrete as someone makes their way down the stairs. She turns on her heels and finds Harold, descending the last few steps and looking down at his phone. He seems to sense Shaw’s presence and looks up at her and then back at his phone. “Thirteen calls and five voicemails, Ms. Shaw,” he asks with a hint of concern in his voice. “What is going on? Where are Root and John?”

“They’re fine, Finch. I just need your help.”

“What sort of help do you need that warranted it being necessary to call me that many times and leave that many voicemails?” Shaw’s the last person he expects this sort of behavior from. Were it not for his concern when he returned from Italy with Grace early in the morning, he would have stayed home with his future wife to catch up on a few much needed hours of sleep.

Shaw lightly chews on the inside of her lower lip. She feels a little bad for worrying Harold and for a moment she considers apologizing. She focuses her mind back on the situation at hand instead. “It’s about Root,” she tells him.

Harold stares at Shaw with a curious look on his face. “You said she was fine,” he says concerned again.

“She is. I just…” she’s quiet, suddenly unsure of herself. The ex-operative takes a deep breath. She’s never been nervous like she is now. It’s another new feeling she’s beginning to wish she could make vanish again. “It’s about… the two of us,” she says.

The words sink in and Harold thinks he understands though it still isn’t completely clear to him why exactly Shaw needs his help. “I’m hardly the best person to be asking for any sort of relationship advice, Ms. Shaw,” he says.

“Who else am I supposed to ask, Harold? Let’s face it, John isn’t exactly up to par in that department either.” She falls quiet and chews on her lip again. “I want to ask her to marry me,” she blurts out eventually and she’s a little surprised by her own words, shocked that she managed to speak them.

Finch is shocked too. He isn’t sure what to say for a moment but he eventually nods. “And what role am I supposed to play in this,” he asks.

Shaw shrugs. “You’re the only one who has any experience with any of this,” she says. “I was hoping you would help me pick out a ring and figure out how to ask her.” She stares at Harold, hoping he can help and daring him to judge her for her sudden change in character.

Harold thinks about it for a minute, still not certain he’s the best person for her to be asking for help, but knowing there isn’t really anyone else she can turn to. He lets out a deep sigh and nods. “What did you have in mind,” he asks her.

“I started looking for a house,” Shaw tells him. “We decided that if Gen’s going to stay with us, then we need a bigger place. While she was with you during Claire’s memorial, Gen and I found a place that we think she’d like. The bank is putting it up for auction later today at the county office building.” She opens the photo album on her phone and shows him the pictures she took of the place and he agrees it’s a nice house, big enough for the three of them and the dog they seem to have stolen from him and John. "I was thinking I could ask her when I show her the house,” she says half questioning, worried that it might be a stupid idea. Harold just nods his approval. “So then I just need to pick out a ring.”

Harold thinks it over for a minute before he motions for Shaw to follow him. “I think I know just the place to look,” he tells her as they make their way up the stairs, past the vending machine, and out into the late morning sun.

 

*~*~*

 

John wakes up beside Zoe and turns over on his side. She stares back at him with a smile on her face, prompting him to smile back. “Want some coffee,” she asks him able to see the bags that still hang under his eyes. If he could sleep the whole day away she’s certain that he would and she would let him. John nods and she pushes the covers aside and throws on her clothes from the night before. “What time do you have to be to your fake job,” she asks with a wink and a grin as she makes her way out of the room.

Reese gets dressed and follows Zoe to the kitchen, looking down at his watch. It’s almost eleven-thirty and he’s shocked he managed to sleep in as long as he did. “Should be there already,” he tells her. “But I’m sure Lionel won’t mind covering for me.” He grins and sits at the small table in the kitchen, watching as the fixer puts on a pot of coffee. He knows he’ll get flack from Fusco about being late and making the detective have to cover for his ass yet again, but it’s worth it to spend a little extra time with Zoe. John’s half tempted to just quite the job now that he doesn’t need the cover anymore, but he knows they still have to be careful with what funds they have left, at least for a little while longer, and keeping his job as a detective to bring in a little extra cash won’t hurt.

Zoe pulls two cups out of a cupboard and pours the finished coffee into them. She sets one of the cups in front of John and sits across from him with her own. “I could make some breakfast if you want,” she offers.

“Not much of a breakfast person,” John tells her.

“I figured as much,” Zoe responds with a smirk. She takes a few sips of her coffee and gets up after a few minutes and wanders to the pantry. She grabs a granola bar out of a box and tosses it in John’s direction and he manages to catch it. “You should eat something,” she urges.

“What about you,” he says surrendering easily and peeling back the wrapper.

                “I’m not much of a breakfast person either,” Zoe says and John raises an eyebrow. She smiles and grabs another granola bar out of the box before returning to the table. They eat in silence and when John finishes his coffee he pushes himself up from the table, ready to leave before Lionel calls him to find out where he is and why he’s so late. He puts his cup in the sink and kisses Zoe before he heads for the door. “John,” the fixer calls to him and he turns on his heels, waiting for her to go on. “Dinner again tonight,” she requests. “I’ll cook.”

John considers it for a moment before he smiles and nods. “I’d like that,” he says and turns for the door again.

The click of the door latching closed seems to echo through the quiet apartment and Zoe lets out a deep sigh, her lips once again burning with words she still hasn’t spoken. She longs to tell John that she loves him, but she isn’t sure it’s time yet, so she swallows them back once more and wonders how much longer she’ll be able to keep them from slipping out.

 

*~*~*

 

Finch and Shaw sit on the couch looking through the pictures on her phone of the house she’s certain Root will love. They hear a key in the door and Shaw jumps up from the couch and runs to the door, knowing that it’s Root back from the shopping trip she promised Gen. She forces the door closed as Root opens it. Information that Harold collected about the house is laid spread out on the coffee table, along with a small box containing the ring that Harold helped Shaw pick out. “Sameen,” Root says when the door closes in her face and she can’t push it open again. “Can I come in, please?”

“No,” Shaw says and watches as Harold frantically collects the paperwork and slips it all into his computer case, knowing that Shaw wants the house to be a surprise. He leaves the ring, forgetting it’s there.

“Why not,” Root asks and she’s a little worried now. “Sweetie, what’s going on?”

“Uh…,” Shaw searches for an excuse, “because Harold is naked,” she says when it’s the first thing that pops into her head. She points at the ring but Finch is too busy staring at her with a dumbfounded look on his face to pay attention to what she’s pointing at.

The ex-operative hears a muffled “ew” from Gen on the other side of the door and she can’t help but laugh quietly.

Root stares at the door, confused and still a little concerned. “Why is Harry naked in our apartment?”

“The ring,” Shaw whispers and Harold finally stops staring at her and grabs the little box and slips it into his pocket. Shaw finally opens the door and smiles at Root and Gen. “It’s a long story,” she tells Root.

The woman looks at Shaw with a raised eyebrow as she steps into the apartment. Gen enters cautiously behind her, glancing at Finch and relived to find him fully clothed. She drops the bags she’s carrying and plops herself down beside him on the couch and turns on the TV, explaining the plot of some cartoon to him. Despite his lack of interest, he listens intently and Root and Shaw watch the two of them for a moment, both smiling at the sight. After a few seconds, Root leans in for a kiss and when Shaw doesn’t pull back despite the presence of someone other than Gen, it makes Root smile again mid-kiss.

“What,” Shaw asks when she pulls back after feeling the woman’s lips form into a smile beneath her own.

Root shakes her head, still smiling, and pulls Shaw back into her. They’re interrupted by Harold, computer case in hand, waiting to get to the door. He clears his throat to get their attention and Shaw’s face grows red. “I should get going,” he says and the two women nod. He reaches into his pocket and stealthy hands the little box over to Shaw before he steps past them, out of the apartment. Root closes the door behind him and turns back to Shaw. “So, do you want to tell me why Harry was naked in our apartment,” she asks teasing the ex-operative, knowing it was only an excuse to keep her in the dark about whatever it is Shaw is planning.

]“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” Shaw teases back and smiles playfully. 

Root’s smile widens and she laughs quietly. “Sweetie, the thought of Harry naked is already killing me.”

“You and me both,” Gen interjects and both women laugh.

 

*~*~*

 

John wanders to his desk and sits down, opening up one of the unfinished reports and avoiding eye contact with Fusco. “Late night,” the detective asks eyeing his watch. He waits a few seconds before he looks up at Reese, noticing that the man is trying hard to ignore him. “Hey sunshine, you’re almost five hours late. Captain was on my ass about your whereabouts… again. I’m running out of excuses to cover your ass with. Where the hell were you anyway?”

Reese looks up from the unfinished report in front of him, eager to get it done and move on to more interesting work. “I was with Zoe,” he confesses and braces for the teasing he knows he’ll be forced to endure.

“You take Shaw’s advice and finally make it official,” Fusco asks with a grin. “She’s right you know, you two would be good together. And she’s probably one of the few who could put up with you long term,” he adds with a chuckle.

John shakes his head, a small smirk forming on his lips as he turns his attention back to the report only to be interrupted again a few minutes later.

“Detective Riley, nice of you to finally show up.” John looks up at the woman standing beside his desk, shocked to see the familiar face.

“Dani,” Reese says. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s Captain Silva now,” the woman says with a grin.

“Captain? What happened to Moreno?”

“Transferred,” Dani tells him. “Like you’ll be if you don’t start showing up to work on time.” Her face is stern for a minute before she cracks a smile. “Three strikes Detective; consider today your first,” she adds before walking away.

John looks at Fusco, eyes questioning as he nods his head in Dani’s direction as she slips back into her office. Lionel raises his hands in the air and shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t look at me, buddy. Better just keep your ass in line as long as she’s near the top of the food chain,” he says grinning again. “If you ask me, it’s about time we got someone around here who can keep your ass in line.”

“Wasn’t too long ago you needed someone to get you in line, Lionel.”

“Hey, the past is in the past… best we leave it there,” the detective jokes and John laughs quietly, shaking his head.

“When you two are done goofing off, you’ve got a case to work,” Dani says returning with a file that she drops on John’s desk. He opens the folder and the details inside serve as a sobering reminder that without the Machine, they have no chance to putting a stop to any potential murders before they happen. He looks at the photographs of the dead man and recognizes him as a member of the Aryan Nation.

“Leon,” John mutters.

“What was that,” Fusco asks.

“Our victim, he’s a member of the Aryan Nation. Just… reminded me of Leon.”

“Don’t tell me we might have to put up with that pain in the ass again.”

John shrugs and smirks. “He does have a bad habit of getting himself into trouble,” he says and Fusco rolls his eyes and shakes his head. 

 


	17. The Weight of Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a list of the songs I listened to while working on this chapter is anybody is interested: The Golden Age by The Asteroids Galaxy Tour, Hollow Moon by AWOLNATION, Shut up and Dance by Walk the Moon, The Weight of us by Sanders Bohlke, and Stand by You by Rachel Platten

Shaw once again finds herself waiting in the subway for Harold. She’s sitting near his computer, munching on a bag of chips when she finally hears the vending machine move. “You’re late,” she says looking down at her watch that tells her it’s a quarter to three in the afternoon.

Harold lets out a deep sigh when he sees the small, opened bag in Shaw’s hand. “Need I remind you, Ms. Shaw, that I would prefer it if you didn’t snack near my computer.”

“Hey, I skipped lunch to be here two hours ago. You know better than to expect me to function on an empty stomach. Where were you,” Shaw asks, changing the subject as she crumbles the empty bag into a ball and tosses it into a garbage can.

“I took Grace to lunch. We took a little longer than I expected,” Harold says and Shaw glares at him. “We can stop and get something on the way to the auction,” he says and her glare turns into a satisfied smile.

“Let’s go then,” she says looking down at her watch again and heading for the stairs. Harold lets out a sigh and grabs his computer case, the papers full of information about the house and auction still hidden away inside from earlier.

Finch follows Shaw up the stairs and reluctantly hands over the keys when she makes her way to the driver’s side door. He slides into the passenger seat, holding on for dear life as they speed off. She pulls to a stop in front of a deli and looks at Harold. “The usual,” he asks, recognizing the deli, and Shaw just smiles. Finch gets out of the car and returns a few minutes later with Shaw’s favorite. He watches her chow down before they take off again.

They get to the county office building just as the house is being announced for auction. The auctioneer announces the starting bid and one other person makes a higher offer, a few grand more than the max that Shaw planned to offer. Her head falls but she perks up again when she hears Harold make his own offer, out bidding the other person, adding another few grand to the total that the house will earn the bank. The other bidder shakes his head, forfeiting, and the auctioneer asks if there are any other bids before declaring the house sold. Shaw glances at Harold and he gives her a small smile. “I’ll pay for the house,” he says. “Consider it an early wedding gift, assuming Ms. Groves says yes when you pop the question, which I’m sure she will.”

A small smile spreads across Shaw’s lips and she hesitates for a moment before wrapping her arms around him for a quick hug. He’s shocked by the show of affection but he returns the embrace before they make their way through the crowd of people waiting to bid on other houses up for auction. They stop at a table and a representative from the bank selling the house smiles up at them as Harold fills out a check and Shaw starts signing papers the woman slides toward them. “How soon can we move in,” Shaw asks the woman.

“I suppose you could close on the house whenever you’re ready,” the woman tells her. “I have the rest of the paperwork here if you’d like to do it now,” she offers and Shaw nods.

Harold waits, watching Shaw sign each of the sheets handed to her, and then slides the check across along with the short stack of paperwork. Shaw folds the carbon copies and sticks them in her back pocket as she and Finch head back to the car. “I want to ask her tomorrow,” she announces. “And I want you to be there.” Harold looks at her with a raised eyebrow. “For moral support,” she says. Finch nods and they both slide back into the car to head back to the subway.

 

*~*~*

 

John walks around the crime scene, occasionally glancing up at a group of three men, blocked from the scene by police tape and a few uniformed officers. He’s already figured out that they’re members of the Aryan Nation, friend’s of their victim… if you could call the dead gang member a victim. He leaves Fusco to continue looking over the scene while he wanders over to the men on the other side of the tape. “Can I help you gentlemen,” he asks.

“The man in the suit,” one of them says smiling at him. “Is it Detective now?” John only smiles back at them. “Your reputation precedes you. I suppose that might have something to do with your previous encounter with a few members of our organization. We’re here to pass on a warning, Detective. This time, it would be in your best interest to stay out of our affairs.”

John smirks. “I wish I could. But somebody murdered your friend here; now it’s my job to find out who did it. Any chance any of you gentlemen know anything?”

“We already know who killed him, Detective. And we’ll take care of it ourselves. Find another homicide to solve and leave this one to us. It’ll be better for everyone involved that way.”

“Sorry,” John says. “I can’t do that. But since you say you know who killed your friend,” he smirks again and turns to a uniformed officer standing nearby, “Officer, I would appreciate it if you could make sure these men are taken down to the precinct. It seems they may know something about what happened to their friend and I’d like to question them further.” The officer nods and with the help of a few other officers the men are loaded into the back of patrol car to be carted back to the station.

Fusco walks up beside John, watching as the car speeds off. “What’s that all about,” he asks.

“They were irritating me,” John says still staring in the direction the car heads in. He turns to look at Fusco, a smirk still on his face. “And it seems they know who shot our victim.”

“Great. So that means we get to spend the next several hours interrogating a group of Aryan assholes who’d sooner see us dead then share any information that might help us close this case.”

“Sorry, Lionel, but you’re on your own tonight. I promised Zoe I’d be home for dinner,” his smirk turns into a smile and he turns and starts walking back toward Fusco’s car and slides into the passenger seat.  

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Fusco says as he slips into the driver’s seat.

“You could always wait until morning,” John suggests. “Let them sweat it out overnight.”

Lionel stares at John for a minute and then shakes his head. “Yeah, whatever you say, partner,” he says and starts the car.

 

*~*~*

 

Shaw wanders into the apartment, as the sun is starting to set, fidgeting with the ring in her pocket. Her eyes brighten when they fall on the pizza box open on the coffee table. “How was your lunch date with Harry,” Root asks her as the ex-operative plops herself down on the couch, between Root and Gen, and grabs a slice of pizza out of the box.

“He was late,” Shaw grumbles. “Stood me up to take Grace to lunch instead.”

“Poor baby,” Root says and playfully pouts. She grins when Shaw glares at her, and kisses the ex-operative’s cheek.

Shaw’s glare fades to a small smile. “We made a stop at my favorite deli before we… ran our errand. I guess that makes up for it,” she says and grabs another slice of pizza.

Root laughs quietly and leans back, resting her elbow on the arm of the couch and her head on her hand. “You promised you’d tell me what exactly it was you two were doing that’s supposed to be such a big secret,” she says still grinning.

“And I will tell you,” Shaw says. “Tomorrow.” Root pouts and Shaw shakes her head, turning her attention away from the woman. “You know those puppy dog eyes of yours aren’t going to work on me, Root.”

Gen giggles as she munches on her pizza and Root’s gaze shifts to the girl. “What do you know,” Root asks her.

Shaw passes the girl a warning glance and Gen shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know anything,” she says.

Root raises an eyebrow, knowing that Gen must know something because she seems to know almost everything. “How come she gets the details about this super secret thing you and Harold have going on, but I don’t,” Root asks pouting again. Shaw ignores her and she turns her attention back to Gen. “I’ll take you shopping again tomorrow if you tell me what you know,” she bargains.

The girl’s eyes light up for a second but then she shakes her head. “Sorry, I already have plans tomorrow.”

The ex-operative laughs and she smiles at Root. “I win,” she says. Root sticks her tongue out at the woman and all three of them laugh.

 

*~*~*

 

Reese knocks on the door to Zoe’s apartment, a bouquet of flowers in his arm. He waits patiently for her to answer and he smiles when she opens the door and lets him in. “Flowers, John,” she teases with a grin.

John laughs quietly and looks at the floor. “It was Fusco’s idea,” he says and hands the flowers off to the fixer.

She laughs and accepts the flowers. “They’re beautiful,” she says with a grateful smile as she makes her way into the kitchen and fills a vase with water to put the flowers in and then sets the vase in the middle of the table already set for two.

“What’s for dinner,” John asks wandering into the kitchen behind her.

“Steak,” Zoe says. “I figured it was one of the few things I couldn’t go wrong with.”

John nods in approval. “Anything I can help with?”

Zoe carries a bowl of salad from the counter to the table and grabs an unopened bottle of wine. She hands the bottle over to John along with a corkscrew. “Last time I opened a fresh bottle, it didn’t end well,” she says with a quiet laugh.

John smirks and goes to work on the bottle, pulling the cork out easily and setting it aside. He fills the two wine glasses set on the table as Zoe grabs the plates. She returns them to the table with the two steaks, cooked to near perfection. They both sit down and John picks up his glass and Zoe follows suit. “To our mutual friends who pushed me to finally go after something… someone I’ve wanted for a while,” John says with a smile.

“To us,” Zoe says with a widening smile of her own. They clink their glasses together and drink. Zoe cuts her steak slowly and forks small pieces into her mouth. She occasionally makes eye contact with John and her wavering smile returns until she looks away again. Words she longs to speak once again linger on her tongue and she fights to hold them back.

“What’s on your mind,” John asks between bites. He can tell that something is eating away at her. 

Zoe pushes pieces of steak and salad around her plate. She purses her lips as she contemplates whether she should finally speak the words she isn’t sure John is ready to hear. As much as she’d like to speak them, she isn’t sure she’s ready either. “John, I…” she pauses and takes a deep breath and then shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”

John raises an eyebrow and sets his fork down, giving the woman across from him his full, undivided attention. “I know I’m not one to call somebody out on poor communication, since I’ve never been great at it myself, but I like to think I’m a pretty good listener. Whatever it is, Zoe, you can tell me.”

The fixer lets out a deep sigh and lifts her gaze from her plate to meet John’s eyes. “I’m just… worried it might be too soon,” she says and John gives her a curious look. “John, I love you,” she finally says, managing to force the words out.

John is a little taken aback, but he’s careful not to let it show. He finds it hard to accept that anybody could truly love a guy like him, who keeps himself so closed off from everyone else and shut’s everyone out, who doesn’t know how to open up. How could somebody love a guy who lives the way he does, always on the edge, always in danger? He looks deep into Zoe’s eyes and he can see the emotion in them. Somewhere deep down he feels the same way, but he’s lost almost everyone he’s ever loved, given up one or two, and he isn’t sure he’s ready to take that risk again.

“I understand if it isn’t mutual,” Zoe says when Reese doesn’t say anything.

The night he found himself dying of blood loss and hypothermia in the middle of nowhere replays in his head, all the words the ghost of Joss said to him, while he was hallucinating her presence, echo in his mind. He knows that she wouldn’t want him to give up an opportunity like this. She would want him to try, no matter the risk. John parts his lips but he struggles to find the right words. “I’ve gotten so used to losing the people I care about,” he says. “Zoe, it’s not that I don’t have feelings for you. I’m just… afraid I’ll lose you the way I lost Jessica and Joss,” he admits, finally managing to force himself to break down the thick wall he’s built around himself.

Zoe’s eyes soften and she reaches across the table to take his hands into her own. “I’m afraid too, John,” she tells him. “The kind of life you live, I’m afraid of what might happen to you, I’m afraid of what might happen if I get caught in the crossfire, I’m afraid that your job with Harold might somehow come between us. But I’m more afraid of not trying, of giving up and not knowing if this… if we could work.” Her eyes grow moist with tears that she fights to hold back. “I’m afraid, but if you’re willing to try, John, then so am I.”

Her words sink in and a smile slowly creeps across John’s face. “I’ve never been very good at this,” he says though he knows that this isn’t news to Zoe. “But I can promise to try my best.”

His promise to try is enough for Zoe and she smiles. She watches as he returns his attention to his meal, both of them feeling like an immense weight has been lifted off their shoulders.

 

*~*~*

 

Harold slips beneath the covers of his bed and turns on his side to look at Grace, already sleeping peacefully beside him. When he left her believing he was dead after the ferry bombing, he never expected he’d ever see her again, at least not like this. He’d accepted that, because of the choice he’d made in an attempt to keep her safe, he’d be stuck living the rest of his life without her. Of course, he’d also long ago accepted that he wouldn’t make it as long or as far as he has. And yet here he was, alive and as well as could be expected after everything he and the others have been through, with the only woman who’s ever completely owned his heart at his side once again as if they’d never been apart.

Some small part of him is still in disbelief that she was so easily ready and willing to pick up where they’d left off. He’d half expected to finally tell her the truth and be forced to watch her turn her back on him and run. Instead, she’d listened to every crazy sounding word he’d spoken and made the choice to stand by him, walk through hell with him if he ever finds himself walking through the scorching flames again. The words the priest at Claire’s memorial spoke echo in his head, _“that man was lucky to have that woman in his life.”_ Since creating the Machine, Harold and his friends, his family, have been dragged through Hell more than once. They’ve lost so much, been forced to give up so much, and come so close to complete and utter annihilation. Despite it all, he knows the priest was right, and with Grace back in his life once again, he’s willing to consider himself the luckiest man alive, even if tomorrow the rest of the world were to start crumbling around him once again.

Grace’s eyes flutter open, still full of sleep, and she stares back at Harold, her lips slowly forming into a smile that Finch can’t help but return. She moves closer to him and kisses him before she cuddles into him and closes her eyes once more, quickly drifting back off to sleep.

Harold watches her sleep for a few minutes before he presses his lips against her forehead and lays his head back on his pillow, longing for a few hours of the decent sleep he desperately needs. He closes his eyes and he thinks of Root. She’s the reason Grace is beside him once more. Had she not shown up at Claire’s memorial to offer a few encouraging words and convince him that even he deserves a chance at a happy ending, he wouldn’t have made the trip to Italy to find Grace, let her know he was alive, and bring her home. He makes a mental note to thank her next time he sees her, and slowly drifts off to sleep.


	18. A Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a list of the music I listened to while working on this chapter if anyone is interested: Hollow by Cloudeater, Hearing by Sleeping at Last, and Goodbye to a World by Porter Robinson

John wanders into the precinct and makes his way to his desk, on time for once. Fusco looks up at him and then glances down at his watch with wide eyes, shocked that his partner isn’t several hours late yet again, and relieved that he won’t have to make another excuse for John’s tardiness to help cover his ass. “When did Hell freeze over,” the detective asks with a smirk.

“Didn’t want to add two more strikes,” John says glancing up at Fusco. “Without the Machine, I need another source of income. Can’t afford to lose this job,” he says opening a report left behind on his desk from the day before.

Fusco laughs quietly and shakes his head. “You telling me if that all seeing eye of Glasses’ comes back, I can finally get a real partner who doesn’t run around shooting everybody’s kneecaps off and makes an effort to show up on time?”

“I don’t know, Lionel. I might just stick around for a while after. If I left, I might start to miss you too much.”

The detective rolls his eyes, still shaking his head, and turns his attention back to his own stack of reports that he still hasn’t finished filling out. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he says a few seconds later, “your Aryan Nation pals are waiting for you in interrogation after a long night of simmering in a holding cell.”

John looks up at Fusco and nods. He lets out a deep sigh and pushes himself up, quietly accepting that he’ll likely never get around to finishing the reports that seem to just keep piling up; finish one, get three more. He makes his way to one of the interrogation rooms and pushes through the door. “Sorry about the wait,” Reese says as he sits down across from a burly man with an angry face.

“You’re wasting your time, Detective, and mine. You’ve got nothing to hold us on; in a few hours you’ll have to let us go. What makes you think any of us are going to tell you what we know?”

John crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “You don’t have to say anything,” he tells the man. “We could sit here in silence for the next seven hours or so, if that’s what you would prefer. Of course, that also gives whoever shot and killed your friend another seven hours to get out of the city, diminishing either of our chances of getting to them.”

The man sitting across from John smiles and shakes his head. “No need to worry, Detective; the rest of our men are already out looking for him. He won’t be going anywhere until we’re done with him. And then, the only place he’ll be going is six feet under.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat,” John asks with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sure you’re aware that threatening another man’s life is a crime.”

“Go ahead and throw me in jail for a few days, Detective. I don’t doubt you’ve already looked over my record, in which case you know I’ve done my fair share of time in the big house. What’s another few months? And like I said, the rest of our men are already out there looking for the pathetic excuse of a man who killed our guy.”

John knows he isn’t going to get anything out of the man, or the other two sitting in separate interrogation rooms waiting for their turn. He shakes his head and gets up from the chair. “Have it your way. Hope you enjoy your next three months, courtesy of our lovely tax payers.” He opens the door and takes a step out of the room before the man opens his mouth again.

“Hey, Suit.” Johns stop and looks over his shoulder, waiting for the man to go on.  “Last time you got involved with our organization a few years ago, you took out a bunch of our guys to rescue that thieving pipsqueak Leon,” he says and John just silently stares at him. “Not this time,” the man says and falls quiet again.

John stares at the man for a moment longer before he steps out of the room, closing the door behind him. He eyes Fusco as the detective steps out of another room. “Get anything out of that one,” he asks.

Fusco shakes his head. “Just an assurance that they know who did it and that they’re capable of handling the situation on their own.”

It’s exactly what John expected and he nods. “We need to find whoever killed this guy before another Aryan Nation member finds him.” The words of the man John spoke to seconds before echo in his head, his reference to Leon and his threat that John wouldn’t be able to rescue their next victim this time. He has a bad feeling. “I think I know who might be responsible,” Reese says.

The detective gives Reese a curious look. “Yeah? Who?”

“Our friend Leon,” John says. He finds it difficult to picture Leon shooting anybody, but stranger things have happened and as unlikely as it may be, he isn’t ready to write it off as a possibility after his conversation with the Aryan scum he spoke to in the interrogation room. “We have to find him and get him to safety before they get their hands on him, assuming he’s our guy.”

Lionel shakes his head, amazed at Leon’s ability to repeatedly get himself in trouble, with the same gangs no less, but he can’t believe Leon could bring himself to shoot somebody; not intentionally. “You really think it could be him?”

John shrugs and nods his head back toward the interrogation room, “he brought up our last encounter with them, when I had to come to yours and Leon’s rescue.” He laughs. “Sorry to bring it up,” he says before Lionel has a chance to say anything. “I know it’s probably still a sore subject. Didn’t mean to break the gag order,” he adds with a smirk.

Fusco rolls his eyes and glares at John. “You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?” He shakes his head. “Let’s go find this idiot before he gets himself caught and killed and before I decide to put in another request for a new partner.” He shakes his head and leads the way out of the precinct. “Any chance Glasses can lend us a hand finding this guy,” he asks as they slide into his car.  

John shrugs. He knows without the Machine to help them, it will be difficult, but he pulls out his phone and dials Finch’s number to request the man’s help.

 

*~*~*

 

Shaw stands in the new house, anxiously and nervously awaiting Root’s arrival. She glances down at her phone, checking for messages and noting the time. Harold gets off the phone with John and glances at her with a small smile. Shaw catches his grin out of the corner of her eye and glares at him. “Shut it, Harold,” she says before he has a chance to say anything, or comment on the sentimental moment he’s waiting to witness. She turns her attention back to the door, gently biting on her lower lip. Root should pull up any minute on her bike. She wipes sweaty hands on her jeans and takes a deep breath and finally hears the roar of the crotch rocket quickly approaching.

The ex-operative pulls the small box containing the ring out of her pocket and slowly gets down on one knee, waiting for the woman to walk through the door that sits slightly ajar. The motor cuts out a few seconds later and Root gets off the bike and slides her helmet off her head, resting it on the seat before she heads for the house, curious why Sameen so urgently needed to see her at this address. Her eyes graze over the house and she finds herself mildly jealous of whoever owns the place. It’s not exactly a dream home, but it’s close; just big enough for a small family and right in the middle of a nice little neighborhood on the edge of the city.

Root pushes the door open and steps inside, eyes falling on Shaw as she steps through the threshold. Realization hits quickly and tears well in her eyes and a smile forms on her lips before Shaw even has a chance to open her mouth. She stops in front of the ex-operative, looking down at her as tears slowly roll down her cheeks. “Root,” Shaw says opening the small box with shaking hands. Her voice catches in her throat when she tries to say the words she longs to speak and she closes her eyes and takes another deep breath. “Will you marry me,” she finally asks looking up at the woman.

Gen and Harold watch, waiting anxiously for the answer they both know Root is sure to give. They smile when Root nods as she wipes happy tears from her eyes. “Yes,” she says and Shaw slides the ring from the box onto Root’s finger before she stands up and kisses the woman.

Harold clears his throat and Shaw pulls away from Root, cheeks red as she glances at him. “I hate to butt in on the happy moment,” he says. “But I promised John I’d lend him and detective Fusco a hand with their current case, since it may involve a past number of ours. I’ll leave the car with you and catch a cab, since I suspect it might be rather difficult and dangerous for all three of you to ride back into the city on the motorcycle.” He hands his keys over to Shaw and smiles at them both, then heads for the door. “Congratulations,” he says before he slips out.

Gen runs to them and pulls them both into a small group hug and when she lets them go Shaw reaches into her back pocket and takes out the neatly folded papers and hands them to Root. “Harold says to consider it an early wedding present,” she says.

Root stares at Shaw for a moment, wondering what she’ll find in the papers. She unfolds them slowly and reads over the document carefully before looking back at Shaw, her smile widening.

“Harold took care of the house,” the ex-operative says. “It’s all ours… as long as we can pay the bills that come with it every month,” she adds with a smile. “John said he’d put in a good word for me on the department so I can start making a little cash and Harold said he’d help out as much as he could until the Machine comes back online and finances aren’t such an issue… assuming the Machine does come back online.”

“We’ll get her back; I know we will,” Root says with a smile and Shaw’s glad that the woman seems to have enough faith for the both of them. Silence settles between them and Root glances down at the ring on her finger. She’d dreamed of this day, but she never imagined it would ever actually happen. Though she’d hoped, she’d never expected her relationship with Shaw to progress this far, but she’s glad it has. “I told you someday you’d realize that we’re perfect for each other,” she says with a flirtatious smile when she looks back up at the ex-operative.

Shaw smiles and Root links her fingers together behind the ex-operative’s neck, pulling her in for another passionate kiss. Gen looks out the window, attention on a bird hopping around in the yard… their yard. She turns toward the women after a minute or two, puffing out her cheeks and watching them for a second before intruding on their moment. “I’m hungry,” she says getting their attention.

“So am I,” Shaw says and Root laughs, noting how similar Shaw and Gen are. Shaw holds up the keys to Harold’s car, “first one to the car gets to pick the restaurant,” she says and Gen bolts out the door. Root and Shaw both laugh quietly as they step out of the house together, hand in hand.

 

*~*~*

 

After a few hours of trying and failing to help John and Fusco find Leon, Harold sits in front of his computer, alone in the subway. Without the Machine to help give him a little direction, and without access to the cameras placed around the city, he’s discovered it’s exceedingly difficult to track down a person who has more than likely already been captured by the men after him or has gone into hiding to avoid his enemies. He lets out a deep sigh and stares at the black screen in front of him, getting lost in his own thoughts.

It’s been almost a week since he uploaded the last copy of the Machine to the satellite so she could attempt to finish their fight against Samaritan and destroy what was left of the enemy A.S.I. The Ice-nine virus and the damage it brought about has, for the most part, been cleaned up and fixed. The digital realm is beginning to return to normal, but he hasn’t seen or heard anything from the Machine and there’s been no indication that Samaritan managed to win and re-upload itself to continue wreaking havoc in its attempt to take over the world. 

He’s come to the conclusion that the Machine succeeded in destroying what remained of Samaritan, but that she was destroyed as well in the process, and he’s beginning to accept that they will never get her back. He wonders if he should bother starting over, go through all the turmoil of recreating the Machine. It would take time to rebuild her and he’d no doubt have to create and destroy a number of versions before getting it right, just like the first time. There would be no guarantee that the new Machine would be just like the old one by the time he was done. They’d all be starting over from scratch and dealing with a whole new entity, and he still isn’t certain he’s ready for that.

Up until now, things have been okay without the Machine. Harold has Grace back and John’s finally making an attempt at a decent relationship. Finch has noticed a rather drastic change in Shaw. He smiles, thinking about her sudden display of emotions, her display of love when she took a big step and proposed to Root this morning. He knows it must have been hard for her and he’s glad that she managed to find the strength to give them a glimpse of the things, the feelings that she has kept hidden well below the surface until recently.

Finch feels a little like a proud parent as he thinks about all that has happened since their last battle against Samaritan. They’ve all changed a lot, not just since beating Samaritan, but since the moment they all found each other. They’ve all suffered a great deal of loss over the years, and they’ve had their fair share of disagreements, and scrapped through a number of rough patches. Despite all the bad things that have happened, Harold knows that they’ve also done a lot of good and he’s finally decided that he’s satisfied with what he has left. He’d still give almost anything to have the friend’s he’s lost back. A large part of him would still be willing to go back and throw himself into the fire if it would bring back Nathan, Carter, Rick, and all the others they’ve lost along the way, perhaps even the Machine. But he knows he can’t go back and he finally realizes that it’s better to be grateful that he still has Root, Shaw, John, Fusco, and Elias, grateful that he has Grace back, rather than focusing on the loss he’s suffered. He misses the others, he always will. He’s accepted that the pain he feels over the loss of the others will never fade. At the same time, he’s ready to acknowledge that he has managed to find happiness despite it all, and though everything didn’t turn out exactly as he’d hoped it would, he’s content with where they all are now.

Still, he can’t help but wonder if things would be just a little bit easier if they had the Machine back. After uploading her copy to the satellite, he’d accepted that there was a chance they wouldn’t get her back. He’d even thought that maybe it would be better if they were all able to move on without the Machine. But now he realizes that the life they lived when they had the Machine, though it may have been dangerous, was the life they’d all grown used to living, perhaps even desired to live. There’s no denying that it would certainly make it a lot easier to help John solve his current case and stop a potentially innocent man from suffering a cruel fate at the hands of a vile and merciless gang. There’s also no denying that, while he doesn’t miss the danger and the constant risk of losing the people he cares about, he does miss helping people and the good feeling that came with knowing that they’d done something positive.

He lets out another deep sigh and turns his computer on and glances down at his watch as it starts up, remembering that he promised Grace a dinner date and that he’s supposed to pick her up from the apartment they now share in a little over an hour. The computer starts slow and when it’s finally up and running he goes through and updates a few things. Before he can shut it down again, a message pops up in the bottom corner of the screen. _“Have a little faith,”_ is all it says and while Harold can’t say for sure who the message is from, and he wonders if perhaps it’s just wishful thinking, he can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, it’s the Machine letting him know that she did somehow survive her fight with Samaritan and that she’ll soon return to them. A smile spreads across his lips and he shuts the computer down, getting up and heading out of the subway with a new found glimmer of hope that he was beginning to lose only minutes before.

 


	19. Niet nog een keer Leon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, here is a list of songs I listened to while working on this chapter: Sad Machine by Porter Robinson, Me the Machine by Imogen Heap, Centuries by Vitamin String Quartet, Thai by En Plein Air, and Sinnerman [Felix Da Housecat’s Heavenly House Mix] by Nina Simone

“Hello,” a voice sounds in Root’s ear, jolting her out of her deep slumber. There’s no light filtering in through the blinds over the bedroom window and Root glances at the glowing green numbers displayed on the alarm clock on the bedside table. It’s three in the morning and she can’t help but wonder if she dreamt the voice. “Can you hear me,” the voice asks a few seconds later and Root recognizes it immediately, much like her own, and is suddenly sure she’s not just imagining it.

A smile spreads across her lips despite her exhaustion. “Absolutely,” she says as she pushes herself into an upright position.

Shaw stirs beside her, sitting up and staring at the woman in the dark. “What is it,” she asks.

“The Machine, she’s back online.” The smile on Root’s face widens as the Machine fills her in on the details of her battle with Samaritan, how she destroyed what remained of the enemy A.S.I., and waited until it was safe to re-upload herself onto a server once the Ice-nine virus was finally cleaned up. “She did it, Sameen,” Root says like a proud parent. “She beat Samaritan.” 

It takes a few minutes for Root’s words to sink in and when they finally do, a small, relieved smile creeps across Shaw’s lips as relief washes over her. “Good, cause I didn’t really think that whole being a cop thing was gonna work out too well,” she jokes. Root smirks and reaches for her phone on the nightstand. “Who are you calling,” Shaw asks.

“Harry,” Root answers as she dials his number.

“Now? Can’t you wait until a more reasonable hour of the morning to give him the good news?”

Root shakes her head as she presses the phone to her ear, too excited to wait. Harold answers just before the phone goes to voicemail. “Ms. Groves, it’s three in the morning. What’s wrong,” he asks keeping his voice low so he doesn’t wake Grace.

“Nothing’s wrong, Harry,” Root says elation evident in her voice. “The Machine beat Samaritan and survived. She’s back online, Harry.”

Finch is silent for several seconds, unable to believe the words he hears. “You’re absolutely certain,” he asks.

“Yes,” Root says and her eyes start to grow moist with joyful tears. “She’s talking to me again. She told me everything.”

 

Harold manages to get up out of his bed and shuffles to the living room. He pulls his laptop out of its case and starts it up as he listens to Root fill him in on everything the Machine told her. He looks into the camera of the computer, bracing himself before he speaks. “Can you see me,” he asks.

It takes a few seconds, but eventually the word _yes_ appears on the screen. Harold holds four fingers up in front of the camera. “How many fingers,” he asks. The word _four_ appears on the screen and Harold smiles, finally believing that every word Root spoke to him is true. “It’ll take some time to test all of the Machine’s functions and ensure that everything is working as it should be. We’ll have to make sure we don’t run into any hiccups like we did last time we almost lost her, but otherwise it would seem that we do indeed have the Machine back,” he says and takes a relieved breath. “Now if you don’t mind, Ms. Groves, I’d like to go back to bed and I urge you to do the same. No doubt we’ll once again receive a large influx of numbers,” he says before he hangs up.

Finch puts the laptop away and shuffles back to his bed with a smile. The smile fades as he climbs back into bed beside Grace, the woman still sound asleep. He’s happy that the Machine managed to defeat Samaritan, and he’s glad the Machine managed to survive the fight, but he knows having her back means they’ll be back to the life they’d finally gotten a short break from, back to almost always being in danger, back to battling privacy terrorists and whatever other threats come their way, all while dealing with their usual numbers and the risk that comes with helping those in danger or those looking to put someone else in danger. He looks at Grace sleeping beside him. He’s delighted to have her back in his life, but he once again finds himself worried about her safety. He closes his eyes and thinks that if nothing else, at least they’ll all have a sense of familiarity; at least they’ll be able to return to what has become their normal.

 

*~*~*

 

Root finds Harold in the subway, servers and computer all once again up and running while he tests the Machine to make sure she’s all there. “How is she running,” she asks, startling Finch.

“Good morning, Ms. Groves,” he says turning to look at her. He turns back to the computer set up in the subway car, checking a few more things before he answers Root’s question. “The Machine seems to be running fine. It appeared there was some damage done during her battle with Samaritan and during the re-upload, but I believe I’ve fixed the damage and we should be back in business. Of course we’ll have to keep an eye on her for a few days. As you’ll recall, the last time we almost lost her things appeared to be working normally once we got her back online, when they were in fact not.” He turns to look at the woman again, just now noticing that she’s alone. “Where is Ms. Shaw?”

“Moving furniture and boxes with Gen and Bear so we can get settled into the house,” she tells him. “Thank you, by the way,” she adds.

Harold gives her a curious look before it dawns on him that Shaw must have told her that he paid for the house and about his offer to help them out financially as much as he can. He smiles and nods. “Funds are still tight at the moment, but I figured it was the least I could do for you and Sameen after everything the two of you have done for the Machine and me. You’ve both risked a lot, so have John and detective Fusco, and I believe it’s time I started paying you all back for all you’ve done. Offering to help out with finances seemed like the least I could do.” He’s quiet for a minute before he speaks up again, “I do have mine and Grace’s wedding to prepare for, but I would also like to offer whatever assistance I can to you and Shaw for yours as well.”

Root smiles and glances down at the ring on her finger, still feeling like the proposal was just a euphoric dream. The weight of the ring on her finger serves as a constant reminder that it was real and makes her smile widen. “Actually, that’s why I’m here,” she says. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I met up with Grace so the two of us could help each other do some planning.”

“Of course,” Harold says smiling at the woman again. “I’m sure she’ll enjoy some time with another woman and I suspect Shaw isn’t likely to sit down and voluntarily do much in depth wedding planning.” Root laughs quietly, because she knows it’s true. He gives Root the woman’s phone number so she can get in touch with his fiancé and then turns his attention back to his computer. He suddenly remembers that he wanted to thank Root for convincing him to go to Italy to find Grace and he turns to look at her again. “Ms. Groves,” he says before she has a chance to head out. She stops on her way to the stairs and turns to face Harold again, waiting for him to go on. “I wanted to thank you,” he says.

“What for,” Root asks.

“If it weren’t for you, I never would have gone to Italy… to Grace. So, thank you for convincing me to go to her and for convincing me that I deserve a chance at a happy ending too.”

Root smiles. “Anything for a friend, Harry,” she says before she turns once again to leave.

The movement of the vending machine echoes through the platform and John makes his way down the stairs as Root makes her way up. They nod to each other. “Congratulations,” John says with a smirk and Root smiles once again and thanks him. She’s halfway up the stairs and Johns headed toward the subway car to talk to Finch when the phone rings. The three of them all stop and turn to the phone and then look at each other. John heads for the phone, pressing the receiver against his ear as the Machine gives him a number that he quickly recognizes. “Leon,” he says as he puts the receiver back on its hook and shakes his head, not in the least bit surprised.

 

*~*~*

 

Shaw moves the couch into the house with the help of one of the guys from the moving truck. They set it down and both take a deep breath. The ex-operative looks over the dozen or so boxes stacked in the living room and is thankful there wasn’t a whole lot to pack and now unpack. Her phone rings and she pulls it out of her pocket, tempted to ignore it until she sees Root’s name on the screen.

“Hey Sweetie,” Root says. “I know you’re probably still busy unpacking, but we just got a number and John needs your help.”

The ex-operative glances at the boxes again. They’re all that’s left and she knows she could use a break and wouldn’t pass up the chance to kick someone’s ass, assuming any ass kicking will be necessary. “I’ll meet him at the subway,” she says. “What about you?”

“I won’t be assisting on this one,” Root says. “I have a date with Grace at the house,” she jokes as she gets on her bike.

“Should I be jealous,” Shaw teases.

“You know I only have eyes for you, Sameen,” Root says innocently.

Shaw smirks and shakes her head, laughing quietly as she hangs up the phone and slides it back into her pocket. “How much do I owe you,” she asks the movers.

One of the guys shakes his head. “Already taken care of,” he says. The two men smile at the ex-operative before they climb back into the empty truck and take off, leaving Shaw looking surprised in the doorway. Her mind wanders to the Machine and she wonders if it was her or Harold that fit the bill this time. She shrugs after a few seconds and turns to look at Gen and Bear, already making themselves at home on the couch while the girl flips through channels of static. The ex-operative makes a mental note that they’ll likely have to add a cable bill to their growing list of expenses, and she finds herself grateful that the Machine is back to offer a little help in that department if and when it’s needed.

“I have to head out for a while,” she tells Gen and the girl nods. “Root’s on her way home, so uh, you know, no parties or anything,” she jokes and Gen looks up at her with a raised eyebrow. Shaw rolls her eyes and shakes her head, a smirk still played across her lips as she steps out, locking the door behind her. She slides into Harold’s car, still on loan from the day before, and heads back toward the city.

 

It takes her almost an hour to get to through traffic and finally reach the subway. She punches in the code on the vending machine and makes her way down to the platform. “Root said we got a number,” she says.

John nods and hands Shaw a couple guns and a few extra magazines. “Leon Tao,” he tells her.

Shaw gives John a funny look, curious who exactly it is he thinks they might be dealing with to make the excessive amount of ammo he’s gathering necessary. “The fake paramedic you guys left me with after Hersh tried to kill me,” she says and John nods. The ex-operative smirks. “Well, whatever trouble he’s in, it looks like it’s gonna be fun.”

“Lionel and I have been working on a case involving a member of the Aryan Nation that turned up dead a few days ago. Leon’s been in trouble with them before and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that his number came up at the same time that we’re working a case involving a group that’s wanted him dead before,” John explains. “If his trail leads us to them, then we’re going to need all the ammo and fire power we can get.”

Harold limps out of the subway car. “I’ve located our friend Mr. Tao,” he tells them. “It seems you may have been right about him being involved with the Aryan Nation again, Mr. Reese.”

John lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head, disappointed in the man he thought would finally manage to keep himself out of trouble. “We should go,” he says remembering that every time Leon’s number has come up, they’ve managed to get to him just in the nick of time, and he doesn’t expect the fourth time to be any different than the first three.

“I’ll text you the address of the last location the Machine was able to track him to,” Finch calls to John and Shaw as the two head up the stairs and past the vending machine.

“Any chance you brought my dog with you,” John asks as they head for the car.

“Your dog,” Shaw questions with a laugh. “You mean my dog,” she corrects with a grin as she slides into the driver’s seat and waits for John to get into the passenger seat before she hits the gas and takes off.

 

*~*~*

 

There’s a knock at the door and Root sets down the bottle of wine she’s struggling with to answer it. She smiles at Grace when she opens the door and lets the woman in. Harold’s fiancé follows Root to the kitchen and watches as she struggles with the bottle for a few more seconds before the stubborn cork finally slips out of the bottle. She grabs two glasses out of a box set on the counter and fills them with the chilled white wine. Root sets a glass in front of Grace and sits across from her at the small table they moved from the apartment. “Have you and Harry set a date yet,” she asks after she takes a sip from her glass.

“Nothing definitive yet,” Grace says. “But we’re thinking sometime after the Holidays.”

Root nods, reminded that Thanksgiving is only a little more than one short week away. She makes a mental note to talk to Harold about the Holiday and getting their little family all together.

“I know Sameen just popped the question yesterday,” Grace says, “but did you have a date in mind?”

She and Shaw haven’t discussed it yet, and if it were completely up to Root, they’d be exchanging vows this very second. She wonders if she can convince Shaw that they should have the wedding before Christmas. It would make for a hectic few weeks. “I’m probably out of my mind, not that that’s ever been relevant,” Root says with a smile and a quiet laugh, “but if I can convince Sameen, I think I’d like to have the wedding before Christmas.”

Grace smiles and nods. She’s just as anxious to finally tie the knot with Harold, but she doesn’t want to try and rush him into it. “It can be done,” she says. “It just means you and Sameen will be very busy for a few weeks and it might cost a little extra to get everything together so quickly. Of course, if you need any help with anything, I’m just a phone call away, and,” she says reaching for her handbag at her feet and pulling out an address book, “if you’re interested, I have a few friends who might be able to help out with getting a venue, and a cake, and such.”

Root smiles and copies down the information Grace gives her: the name and number of a friend who owns a bakery, a close friend and photographer, another friend who works for the Angel Orensanz Foundation that can get them into the venue for a fairly reasonable price, and the name of a good florist who won’t break the bank. The two of them scroll through pictures of wedding cakes, gowns and bouquets on a laptop, and Root gushes over the images of the pictures Grace shows her of the Angel Orensanz Center. They smile and laugh and occasionally sip from their glasses of wine.

Gen eventually wanders out of the bedroom she’s claimed for herself, followed by Bear, and sits at the table beside Root. She’s not as interested in the finer details of wedding planning, but she’s intrigued by the pictures the two women look through and she’s almost as excited about Root and Shaw’s wedding as Root is. The excitement seems to rub off on Bear and he prances around the house, occasionally stopping to let Root or Gen or Grace scratch between his ears.

 

*~*~*

 

Leon kneels on the ground of an abandoned warehouse, hands zip tied behind his back, and  a gun to his head, sweating nervously and anxiously waiting for his saviors to come swooping in at the last minute to rescue him like they always seem to. “Please,” he begs the man in front of him. “I’ll get you the money I owe you. I just… I need a few days.”

“Sorry Leon, you already got your second chance with the Aryan Nation, and this time you took more from us than just money. You killed one of our guys; we can’t forgive that. Last time you got away; this time, you die.”

Leon swallows hard and closes his eyes, counting the seconds as they tick by. “Look, you really don’t want to do this,” he warns. “Just let me go and we can all walk away from this still breathing. I don’t think you want to die anymore than I do.”

The man holds back a laugh and shakes his head. “Is that some kind of threat?” He cocks the gun, finger lingering over the trigger.

“I’m warning you, you really should just let me go,” he insists. “I have these friends and they always show up when something like this happens. It won’t end well for you and your men.”

The man finally gives up his fight to hold back his laughter. “You really think somebody’s coming to save you, Leon. Not this time, buddy. Even if somebody does show up, they won’t get past my men. The game is over for you, Leon, and you’ve got about fifteen seconds to come to terms with that."

“Please,” Leon says continuing to beg for his life and bide his time.

 

Shaw sneaks up behind a guard outside the warehouse. She grabs him from behind, giving his head a hard twist before letting him collapse to the ground. She moves on to the next guard, a short distance away. He catches her movement out of the corner of his eye and aims his gun at her but doesn’t get a chance to pull the trigger before she knocks it out of his hand and throws her palm into his chin. He stumbles backwards, falling against the wall behind him and sliding to the ground. “Two down near the entrance, Reese. I don’t see any more outside.”

John slips up behind her and they both draw their guns before he kicks the door in and they step inside. A hail of gun fire rains down on them and they both dodge in opposite directions, taking cover behind desks left behind when the building was abandoned. John fires off a few shots, pegging one of the three men shooting at them in the knee, and then ducks back behind cover again.

There’s another hail of gunfire before Shaw stands and takes down the two remaining men, shooting one in the gut and the other in the chest. They wander toward the man shot in the knee and Shaw kicks his gun away from him and puts her foot on his chest when he tries to get up. “We’re looking for a friend,” she says pointing her gun at him. “Leon Tao. I’m guessing you might know where he is,” she adds and waits for him to answer.

“He’s upstairs,” he spits at them, angry but eager to save his own life.

“Thanks,” Shaw says with a smile before she hits him in the face, knocking him out. “Enjoy your nap.” She looks at John and he raises an eyebrow before heading for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Reese kicks open the door at the top of the stairs and takes a few steps back, dodging the bullets fired in his direction as soon as the door opens. He waits, counting the rounds as they slam into the door and wall, and streak past him as he ducks down. He counts thirteen rounds before he finally hears the slide of the gun lock open, letting him know the magazine is empty. Shaw pushes past him, gun aimed at the last of Leon’s captors as he fumbles with a new magazine.

“Drop it,” she says and the man ignores her, sliding the new magazine into the gun. “I promise I have better aim than you,” she warns. “One shot and you’re done. I won’t miss.” He continues to defy her, raising his gun. She fires off a shot, before he even gets a chance to rest his finger over the trigger, and he crumbles to the ground. Shaw steps over him and grabs Leon, pulling him up off his knees. He pulls away from her, looking at her with wide eyes as he slips behind John.

“That’s the crazy chick from the ambulance,” he says and John smirks when Shaw glares at Leon. “Last time you guys left me with her she tried to strangle me. Keep her the hell away from me.”

“Relax Leon, I’m not leaving you alone with her, and she doesn’t bite… much,” he says still smirking.

“Could have fooled me,” Leon argues still staring at the ex-operative with fear in his eyes.

Shaw rolls her eyes. “Hey, I just saved your life, pal. We could have just let that bastard shoot your ass,” she says as she brushes past the two of them, heading for the stairs. “Let’s get the hell out of here. It’s time for lunch and kicking Aryan Nation ass works up a hell of an appetite.”

Leon and John exchange a glance before Leon turns his back to John. “Mind cutting me loose,” he asks.

Reese takes out his knife and cuts through the zip ties before they follow behind Shaw and slide into the car. John looks in the rearview mirror at Leon. “Didn’t learn your lesson about messing with the Aryan Nation the first time, Leon?”

“I…I didn’t steal from them this time,” Leon says jumping to his own defense. “I borrowed a couple million dollars to pay back the money I borrowed from the mafia.”

“And what did you do with the money you borrowed from the mafia,” John asks, holding on for dear life as Shaw swerves through traffic, anxious to get some food in her stomach and not in the mood to sit around waiting for other people.

“I lost it,” Leon tells John.

“You lost a couple million dollars?”

“At a casino,” Leon clarifies and John just shakes his head.

“Anyone else we can expect to come looking for you,” Shaw asks as she speeds through a light before it switches from yellow to red.

Leon hesitates to answer. “The mafia may still come after me,” he mutters and both John and Shaw glance over their shoulders at him. “Hey, watch the road,” he yells at Shaw and she rolls her eyes and turns back. “There’s a slight chance I may not have used the money I borrowed from the Aryan Nation to pay the mafia back like I initially planned.”

John lets out a deep sigh and he’s not entirely sure he wants the answers to anymore questions about how it is that Leon managed to blow through several million dollars of gang money. “You really need to learn to keep your head low and stay out of trouble, Leon,” he says.

Leon casts his gaze at the floor of the car. “I know,” he says apologetically. “Look, if you guys get me out of this mess, I swear you won’t have to come save my ass ever again.”

John and Shaw share a glance, both of them knowing Leon’s promise is likely to end up broken somewhere down the line. Reese shakes his head and turns his ear piece on. “Finch, any chance you can ask our friend Elias for a favor?”

“I suppose I can ask,” Finch says. “What do you need?”

“Our friend Leon borrowed some money from the mafia and the Aryan Nation. He failed to pay either back. We took care of the Aryan Nation, but he thinks the mafia may still be after him.”

Finch lets out a deep sigh. “I’ll contact Elias and see if I can convince him to call off his men, but to be honest, Mr. Reese, I’m not particularly fond of asking the man for anymore favors after he’s already done us so many and risked so much for us.” Finch is quiet for a minute, giving his words a few seconds to sink in. “He’ll no doubt expect something in return for the favor. Make sure Mr. Tao knows he’ll be expected to return the favor,” he adds eventually.

“Thanks, Finch. I’ll let him know.” Reese turns his com back off and looks up in the rearview mirror again, catching Leon’s curious gaze. “There’s another reason the Aryan Nation was after you, Leon, isn’t there,” John says and he watches Leon’s gaze fall away in shame.

“You know about the guy I shot,” Leon says knowing that must be what John is referring to. “It was self defense. I didn’t even mean for the gun to go off. I was just trying to wrestle it away from him and then…” he trails off, gaze glued to the floor of the car, feeling guilty.

John lets out a deep sigh. He isn’t surprised that Leon shot the guy on accident and not on purpose. He is, however, surprised that Leon managed to live to tell yet another tale about nearly getting killed. “Look on the bright side, Leon, at least you’ll have plenty of interesting stories to tell your children and grandchildren, assuming you live long enough to have any,” John says with a smirk.

Shaw pulls the car into a restaurant parking lot, her stomach grumbling. “Leon’s buying,” she says as she gets out of the car.

“What,” Leon says climbing out of the backseat. “I’m practically broke. You’re going to make me blow what I have left on your lunch?”

“I think it’s a fair trade for us saving your ass… how many times is it, Reese?”

“Four,” John says.

“Four times. And it’s better than gambling it away,” she says with a grin before heading into the restaurant. Leon lets out a deep sigh, lowering his head and following behind the ex-operative with John. “Do you think you guys could arrange for me to maybe leave town after this,” he asks as he follows Shaw into the restaurant.

“Why? Is there anyone else after you that we should know about, Leon,” John asks as the three of them slide into a booth.

Leon shrugs. “I have pissed a lot of people off over the years,” he admits.

John shakes his head and lets out a deep sigh. “You can stay at our safe house for a few days until things quiet down with the Aryan Nation and the mafia. Then we’ll see about getting you out of New York. But Leon,” he says and Leon nods, waiting for John to go on. “This time, it would be best if you stayed gone and if you stayed out of trouble wherever you end up next.” Leon nods again and resigns himself to watching Shaw chow down on a burger and John down a couple cups of late afternoon coffee.

 

 

 

 

               


	20. Road Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, here is a list of music I listened to while working on this chapter: Meteor Shower by Owl City, Burn my Shadow by Unkle, Spirits by The Strumbellas, Sail by AWOLNATION, Moving in Stereo by The Cars, and Fortune Days by The Glitch Mob

Root lays awake, watching Shaw sleep as sunlight filters through the blinds over the bedroom window. The ex-operative stirs eventually, feeling the woman’s eyes on her. She stares back at Root, the remnants of sleep slowly fading from her eyes and mind as she wakes up. “Were you watching me sleep,” she asks, voice groggy. Root just smiles at her and lets out a quiet, breathy laugh. She rests a hand against Shaw’s cheek, caressing the ex-operative’s skin with her thumb, and then kisses her before tossing the covers aside and rolling out of bed.

“I’ll make some breakfast,” Root says and heads off to the kitchen.

Shaw lays on her back, staring up at the ceiling for a few minutes, half tempted to try and go back to sleep. Then she remembers that the Machine is back and that they’ll more than likely have yet another new number to deal with, not to mention continuing to keep an eye on Leon, making sure the Aryan Nation doesn’t plan to send anymore assholes after him. She lets out a deep sigh and sits up, feet on the floor, and wipes what little evidence of sleep and fatigue remain from her eyes before she pushes herself up and shuffles to the bathroom, hoping  a nice hot shower will help to get her moving.

She turns the shower on and waits for the water to warm up before stepping into the tub. She lathers soap into her hair and rinses it out and then repeats the process. The ex-operative stands under the water for a few minutes, embracing the warmth of the droplets as they hit and roll down her skin. She brushes wet strands of hair out of her face and wipes water away from her eyes before she opens them. Before she turns to shut the water off, she catches movement out of the corner of her eye and freezes, focusing her gaze on a little black spider sitting on the edge at the other side of the tub. She takes a step back, hitting the wall behind her. “Son of bitch,” she whispers, startled by the tiny creature’s unexpected presence. It moves a little and she presses herself harder against the wall, like a frightened, cornered cat. She takes a deep breath, bracing for the teasing she knows she’ll be forced to endure. “Root,” she calls and waits a few seconds. “Root, I need you!”

Root hears Shaw’s pleas and takes off for the bathroom, consumed by worry. “What is it,” she asks slipping through the door. She can see Shaw backed into the corner of the shower through the small gap between the curtain and the wall. “Sameen, what’s wrong?” She pulls the curtain back slightly and follows Shaw’s gaze to the little black, eight legged creature at the opposite end of the tub and she holds back a laugh. “So big, bad, tough, fearless Sameen Shaw is afraid of something after all,” she says with a grin and a quiet laugh.

Shaw glares at Root. “Just fucking kill it, Root,” she begs. She shuts the water off and slips out of the shower and past Root, grabbing her towel. She can feel the woman’s eyes graze over her as she wraps herself in the towel and wanders out of their bathroom and into their bedroom, leaving Root alone to deal with the spider.

Root laughs to herself and turns the water back on and pulls the removable shower head down to wash the spider away. Once it’s gone she replaces the shower head and turns the water off again and wanders into the bedroom.

“Is it dead,” Shaw asks as she dries her hair as best as she can with the towel.

“I washed it down the drain,” Root tells her.

“But is it dead?”

Root laughs. “Yes, Sameen,” she says even though for all she knows it may very well have managed to survive. “It’s dead.” She wraps her arms around Shaw and kisses the ex-operative.

They separate after a few seconds and Shaw stops Root before she can leave the room. “I’m afraid of more than just spiders, you know,” she confesses.

Root stops in her tracks and turns to face Shaw, a little shocked by the confession. She leans against the door frame and folds her arms over her chest. “What else could my fearless girl possibly be afraid of,” she asks with a small smile. Shaw doesn’t say anything, but Root can see the answer in the ex-operative’s eyes and Root’s smile fades, her eyes filling with sympathy. She knows Shaw fears the same thing she does: losing the one person in this world she loves most… again. She unfolds her arms and makes her way back across the room, pulling Shaw back into her arms again. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promises and brushes a strand of wet hair behind Shaw’s ear before kissing her again.

 

*~*~*

 

The subway payphone rings as soon as Harold hits the bottom step of the platform. He quickly limps toward the phone and lifts the receiver to his ear, listening as the Machine gives him a number. He jots it down on the pad of paper set on top of the phone before hooking the receiver back on the base, and then carries the sheet of paper with the number toward his computer, starting it up. Information about their new number is already displayed as soon as the laptop is up and running. He picks up his phone and calls Grace to let her know that he’ll be gone for a few days and then he calls Shaw. It goes to voicemail and he tries Root’s phone instead.

“Good morning, Harry,” the woman answers and he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Good morning, Ms. Groves. I was hoping to speak with Ms. Shaw; she didn’t answer her phone.”

He waits patiently for a response. “What is it, Finch,” Shaw asks after a few seconds.

“We have a new number,” he tells her. “One I suspect you have memorized and will be interested in.”

Finch reads off the number to her. “Control,” Shaw says before he has a chance to finish.

“According the Machine, she went missing several months ago. She was investigating Samaritan after…” he pauses, remembering how John and Root kidnapped the woman so they could interrogate her about Shaw’s whereabouts after the enemy A.S.I.’s agents took the ex-operative.

“After what, Harold,” Shaw asks after a few seconds of silence pass between them. She glances up at Root staring down at the phone on speaker in the middle of the table.

“We thought she might have known where Samaritan took you after the Stock Exchange, but she didn’t. After we let her go, she started digging into Samaritan. The Machine seems to think that she may have uncovered Samaritan’s true intentions and tried to stop it. The last she was seen, she was being loaded into an SUV that the Machine traced to somewhere in the Arizona desert. The Machine seems to believe that she’s still alive, but even with Samaritan destroyed, she may still be in danger. Samaritan may be gone, but a few of its agents no doubt still remain. They may now pose an even bigger threat than before, now that they are no longer following the orders of a perceived higher being,” Harold explains.

“Looks like we’re taking another road trip,” Root says with a smile.

“Grace has generously offered to keep an eye on Gen and Bear at the house for a few days,” Finch tells them. “I’d appreciate it if the two of you could meet me at the subway so we can discuss further action. In the meantime, I’ll contact John to fill him in.” Harold hangs up and dials John, letting out a deep sigh as he waits for the man to answer. He can only imagine what a road trip with the three of them will be like and, after their previous encounter, he isn’t eager to discover just how thrilled Control will be when they’re the ones that come to her rescue… again.

 

*~*~*

 

Finch packs his laptop into its case and follows Root, Shaw, and John up the stairs. Fusco waits for them in his car outside and John and Shaw throw the bags they’ve packed for their little road trip and their bag full of weapons and ammo in the trunk before Shaw slides into the middle of the backseat beside Root, and John slides in beside Shaw. Harold slides into the front passenger seat and glances at Fusco when he feels the detective’s eyes on him. “We’ve gotta put up with all three of your nutty kids all the way to Arizona and back,” he says, half questioning.

“This one is all hands on deck, Detective,” Finch tells him and gives him an apologetic look.

Fusco glances up in the rearview mirror as he starts the car, shaking his head and bracing for the long drive ahead. He pulls out when there’s a break in traffic and heads for the interstate. “How long before we stop,” he asks growing tired just thinking about the drive ahead.

“I would prefer if we didn’t stop until we get to Arizona,” Finch says and Fusco glances at him, eyes wide. “We’ll have to take turns driving,” he adds and that seems to put Fusco at least a little at ease.

They drive on in silence for a while until Root can’t stand the quiet anymore. “Hey Lionel,” she says getting the detective’s attention. He glances up at her in the rearview mirror, waiting for her to go on. “Would you mind turning the radio on?” The detective considers it for a minute before he lets out a deep sigh and finally turns the radio on. “Could you turn it up a little,” Root requests and Fusco reluctantly turns it up. Root nods her head with the song that starts and doesn’t hesitate to start singing along. Fusco glances up in the rearview mirror again, shaking his head. Shaw glares at her at first, but when she notices the irritated look on the detective’s face she decides to join in.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lionel says still shaking his head.

John smirks and laughs quietly and Harold glances over his shoulder at the two women. He lets out a deep sigh and turns back. “Well Detective, if you can’t beat them, I suppose the only remaining option would be to join them,” he says with a small smile, reluctantly willing to admit that even he’s at least mildly amused.

“I’ll pass,” Fusco says. “Thanks anyway.” He focuses his attention back on the road, accepting that this is what he’ll have to put up with for the majority of the next 36 hours, give or take. He pushes his foot down a little harder on the gas, speeding up in an attempt to take even just a few minutes off the long trip they have ahead of them.

 

*~*~*

 

The door to the safe-house opens and Leon jumps up from the couch, frantically looking around for anything he can use as a weapon. His eyes fall on a lamp and he picks it up from the end table where it sits, the power cord keeping it from going too far. “Might be kind of difficult to attack my man and me with a lamp that isn’t going to go very far if you don’t unplug it first,” Elias says as he makes his way across the room, the man with him closing the door and standing beside it, relaxed with this hands folded in front of him.

Leon stares at Elias with a stunned expression on his face and the man takes the lamp out of his hand, setting it back on the end table where it belongs. “Please, sit down, Mr. Tao. There’s no need for us to be uncomfortable while we talk,” he says as he sits in the chair across from the couch. Leon hesitantly sits back down on the couch, pushing aside the book he was skimming through before the mafia boss’ intrusion. “I’m sure our mutual friend has already informed you that in exchange for me calling my men off, after you failed to pay back the money you owe us, I expect a favor.”

“I’ll do anything,” Leon says, eager to preserve his own life and bring this whole thing to an end so he can get out of the city and never come back.

“I’m glad you said that,” Elias says with a smile. “Because the time has come, Mr. Tao, for you to return that favor. See, a rival gang, one it would seem you have some history with, has been pulling in large sums of money by selling weapons.  The thing is,” Elias explains, “my men and I are supposed to be in control of the dealing of illegal weapons, lest said weapons should fall into the wrong hands. We can’t have my enemies getting their hands on the kind of firepower necessary to start a war in my city now can we,” he says.

Leon shakes his head and swallows hard, wondering what exactly it is that Elias wants him to do. “What… what do you need me to do?”

“It seems the Aryan Nation is not too fond of you, my friend. Our mutual friends may have saved you from them a couple times, but that hasn’t changed their desire to see you dead and after your recent run in with them it seems they’re even more anxious to have your head. So anxious, in fact, that they’re offering a reward to anyone who brings you to them.”

“You’re… you’re not going to turn me over to them, are you?”

“Relax, Leon. We’re only going to make them think we’re turning you over to them. See, my men and I have never really gotten along with the Aryan Nation. Our ideals have never really aligned and now they’re going against rules I’ve put in place for a reason. It seems they’ve forgotten who’s in charge and they need a reminder. Of course, due to the animosity between us and them, my men and I can’t very well just go trouncing onto what little territory they have without expecting a fight. That’s where you come in, my friend. You’ll serve as a sort of… peace offering, if you will. Instead of the monetary reward they’re offering, we’ll request that in return for turning you over to them, they cease their business with dealing weapons. They’ll undoubtedly refuse, at which point my men will open fire on them, diminishing their numbers and reminding them who is in charge in this great city of ours.”

“What if they don’t refuse the deal,” Leon says, concerned about how it is he’s going to walk away from this arrangement still breathing.

“A point needs to be made; things will be carried out as planned regardless of whether or not they accept our offer. And you have nothing to worry about, Mr. Tao. You’ll be kept out of harm’s way once bullets start flying. And, if all goes well, once this is over I will arrange for you to be safely escorted out of the city.” Elias places a yellow envelope on the coffee table between them. “Harold has already created a new identity for you.”

Leon stares at the envelope for a few seconds before he reaches out and grabs it, emptying its contents onto the table: a new ID, passport, a plane ticket, enough cash to keep him going for a few months, everything he’ll need to start a new life. “You’re giving this to me now,” he asks.

“I trust that you aren’t stupid enough to try and run before we complete the task ahead. The Aryan Nation has men looking for you all over the city and you and I both know you don’t have what it takes to get out of the city safely without a little help, and since our mutual friends are out of town for the next few days, that leaves only my men and I to ensure you get out safely, which leaves you with no choice but to do as I’ve asked.” Elias makes his way to the door, stopping before he steps out into the hall. “My friend Marco will stay behind to keep a close eye on you,” he says before he leaves, still smiling.

 

*~*~*

 

Fusco drives well into the afternoon before he pulls into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant. He gets out of the car, yawns, and stretches before heading into the restaurant, the others following close behind. They eat quickly and when they get back to the car, the detective places the keys in Shaw’s waiting hand. John and Harold walk around a bit before they climb into the backseat with Fusco and Root slides into the front passenger seat. Shaw starts the engine, eager to get back on the road, and they take off, heading back toward the interstate.

Harold manages to close his eyes and fall asleep before too long and Fusco follows close behind, exhausted from several hours of driving. Shaw glances up in the rearview mirror at them, eyes falling on John last. “You should get some rest too,” she tells him.

“I’m fine,” John says shaking his head.

“You won’t be by the time it’s your turn to take the wheel,” she insists and John seems to take her words into consideration for a few seconds before he rests his head on the window, deciding that she’s probably right. The ex-operative turns her attention back to the road ahead, briefly glancing at Root who stares back at her, head rested against the seat. “What,” she asks.

Root smiles and shakes her head. “I just like to look at you,” she says.

Shaw laughs quietly and rolls her eyes, a small smile played across her lips. “You should rest too,” she tells the woman. “You get the keys next.”

“Do you really plan to hand them over before we get to Arizona,” Root asks her.

Shaw laughs again. She has enough caffeine in her system to keep her up through the night, but as much as she’d love to speed the rest of the way to Arizona without letting anyone else take the wheel, she still knows there’s no way she’ll be able to stay awake and alert for another thirty hours, give or take. “It’ll be a while, but yes I plan to hand them over before we get there,” she says.

Root laughs and stares at the ex-operative for a few more minutes before she lets her eyes fall closed, sleep slowly taking hold.

 

It’s close to midnight when Shaw pulls into a rest stop, eyes growing heavy with fatigue, the caffeine she loaded up on wearing off. She wakes the others and they all unload from the car once again, taking the chance to use the restroom before piling back into the car for another long stretch. “I know I said I’d prefer it if we didn’t stop until we get to Arizona, but perhaps we should find a place to stop for the night,” Finch suggests, knowing none of them are really getting much restful sleep by nodding off in the back or front passenger seat. Fusco’s the only one who seems to agree with him; Shaw, Root, and John are too eager to get to Arizona and find Control so they can head back home.

Root takes the keys and gets into the driver’s seat. She starts the engine as the others pile into the car, and they head back down the road again, getting closer and closer to their final destination.

 

*~*~*

 

Elias returns to the safe-house in the morning. He finds Leon asleep on the couch and he shakes him gently to wake him up. “Time to get up, my friend,” he says when Leon’s eyes finally flutter open. He sits up quickly, startled by Elias’ presence. “We have work to do and you have a new life to begin.”

Leon gets up slowly and follows Elias and Marco out of the safe-house and slides into the back of a car waiting on the street below. They’re driven to the same warehouse that John and Shaw rescued him from only two days before. The back door opens and two men wait for Leon to get out. Elias follows behind him, a hand on Leon’s shoulder as they make their way toward three Aryan Nation members waiting in front of the warehouse.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Elias says with a bright smile as they come to a stop in front of the rival gang members. “It seems we have something you want.” One of the men nods and steps forward to take Leon. Elias pulls him back and steps between the two men. “Not yet,” he tells the three Aryan Nation members. “I think you know we aren’t going to simply turn him over to you without first procuring the reward that was promised to whoever brought him to you.”

“Of course,” the man says and turns to one of the other Aryan Nation members who hands him an envelope. “The reward, as promised.”

“I’m afraid money isn’t the sort of reward my men and I are looking for,” Elias says, briefly glancing down at the offered envelope and then back up into the eyes of the man in front of him.  “I put rules in place for a reason,” Elias tells them. “Rules that you and your men are breaking by dealing dangerous and illegal weapons in my city. So if you want Leon here, then you’ll have to forfeit your arms dealing business.”

The man laughs and shakes his head. “We’re making good money by dealing illegal firearms in this city. We can’t just give that sort of business up. It would cost us too much. So perhaps it’s time for some of your rules to change, or for somebody new to take over. Give use Leon and take your money, before we decide the time to replace you is now,” the man threatens.

Elias smiles and laughs quietly. “You’re making a big mistake,” he says before he turns away from the three men. He takes Leon’s arm and pulls him along, back toward the car. The three Aryan Nation members draw their guns, but they’re shot and killed by Elias’ men before they get the chance to fire their own weapons. “Wait here,” Elias says and directs Leon to get back into the waiting car before he returns to his men.

They break through the door to the warehouse, stepping back to take cover when more waiting members of the rival gang open fire on them. One of Elias’ men is hit in the chest and stumbles to the ground. The mafia boss kneels beside him, an apologetic look on his face as he watches the life slowly fade from the man’s eyes.

There’s a break in Aryan gunfire and Elias and his men take advantage of it, firing several shots into the warehouse and taking down a couple members of the gang before they’re forced back behind cover again. They wait patiently until there’s another break in gunfire and Elias and a few of his men push into the building, taking down more Aryan Nation members as they make their way across the first floor.

One man hides around a corner. He waits until Elias and his men pass by before he steps out and fires off three shots, striking and killing one of Elias’ men and injuring another. Elias turns on his heel and shoots the man before he has a chance to fire his gun again. The mafia boss looks down at his dead man, upset by the loss by two of his men in one day. “Go,” he says to his injured man. “I can handle things from here.” The man hesitates for a moment and then nods, turning to head for the exit.

Elias makes his way up a flight of stairs to an office where he knows the kingpin for the New York City faction of the Aryan Nation waits for him. He pushes the door to the office open and steps inside, gun pointed at the man sitting behind a desk in the small room. “Elias,” the man says. “To what do I owe the honor?” His eyes glance over the gun that the mafia boss points at his head before meeting Elias’ eyes.

“I came to make a deal. I had something you wanted, unfortunately your men weren’t willing to accept my offer.”

“And what offer was that?”

“Pull out of the illegal arms trade in exchange for my turning Leon Tao over to you,” Elias tells the man.

“That’s unfortunate,” the man says. “Too bad it wasn’t a deal we could accept. Pulling out of the arms trade would simply be too much of a financial loss for us, especially after the money Mr. Tao stole from us not once, but twice.” The man falls quiet for a moment, deep in thought. “Word is he borrowed some money from you as well, money I suspect he failed to pay back. And yet it seems you’re helping him.”

“A favor for a mutual friend who’s earned my respect. When you have friends like that, a little financial deficit every now and then doesn’t feel like such a big loss. Something I suspect you might be better able to understand if you made an attempt to gain a few more respectable friends of your own.”

The man laughs quietly and shakes his head. “I think I’ll stick with the friends I have now, but thanks for the advice. Perhaps there’s something else we can work out where Leon is concerned.”

“No,” Elias says shaking his head. “It’s too late for that now,” he adds.

The man nods and begins to reach into an opened desk drawer to pull his own gun. “You know, killing me won’t save Leon from the Aryan Nation, and it won’t eliminate our organization as a threat to you. Somebody will take my place once I’m gone. We’re everywhere, Elias.”

“I know,” Elias says. “So am I.” He pulls the trigger before the man gets a chance to draw and aim his own weapon, and the Aryan Nation kingpin slumps forward, head falling against the desk, a red puddle staining the wood.

Elias stares at the dead man for a moment before he turns to leave the office, heading back down the stairs and outside. He slides into the backseat of his car. “We’ll drop you off at the airport,” he tells Leon. “You should be safe once you pass through security.”

Leon stares at Elias for a second before he nods. He turns his gaze to look out the window as the car begins to move. He’s determined to start over fresh, get himself on the right track and stay on it this time, scared of what might become of him if he keeps headed down the path he has been and knowing that there won’t always be somebody there to save him.


	21. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, here are the songs I listened to while working on this chapter: The Number Song by DJ Shadow and Radar Love by Golden Earring

Harold sits in the front passenger seat with his computer in his lap, giving John directions as they drive through the Arizona desert, toward a fairly isolated area of the state known as the Arizona strip where the Machine believes Control is being kept. “There’s nothing out here,” John says, finding it hard to believe that they’re going to find Control out in the middle of nowhere in an empty desert.

“Precisely, Mr. Reese,” Harold says. “Keeping Control in an isolated location makes sense. There’s nobody out here to ask questions. People are less likely to stumble on whatever hideout it is they’re keeping her in and start investigating. There’s a lot you can get away with in a place like this, if you know what you’re doing. And Samaritan and its agents no doubt knew exactly what they were doing.”

“She says to stop,” Root speaks up from the backseat and John brings the car to an abrupt halt. They pile out of the car, hot, late afternoon, Arizona sun beating down on them. Root walks away from the rest of them, following the Machine’s directions until her foot hits something hard and metallic. She steps back and keels down, brushing dry desert sand out of the way and revealing a metal hatch. “Over here,” she calls to the others.

John grabs the bag loaded with weapons out of the trunk and looks around, eyes searching for any sign of any leftover Samaritan agents still guarding their prisoner. “It’s too quiet,” he says when he doesn’t see any signs of anyone. “Something isn’t right.”

“Maybe the agents left behind to guard your number found out about the demise of their homicidal boss and decided to pack up and go home,” Fusco suggests. It’s a possibility, but John thinks it’s a little too good to be true. He shrugs his shoulders and hands out the weapons, offering a pistol to Finch that the man turns down without hesitation.

Shaw pulls open the hatch once they’re all gathered around the small entrance and John aims the rifle he pulled out of the bag down the hole. “Looks clear,” he says before taking a step back. He watches as Shaw slings her weapon over her shoulder and jumps down, ignoring the ladder. Root follows close behind. “You two stay up here and keep an eye out,” John says, eyes shifting between Lionel and Harold. They both nod and John follows Shaw and Root down the open hatch. They make their way along a dimly lit, narrow hall, guns at the ready.

The ex-operative stops just before they reach the end of the hall. She peers around the corner and down the next hall that’s a bit less narrow than the first. Her eyes fall on a camera at the same time Root warns her of its presence. “She says there’s another one at the end of the next hall, and then a small room. There are two guards outside the room. She thinks Control is being held in there, but there are no cameras in the room so she can’t say for sure.”

Shaw nods. “Get ready,” she says and Root moves around Shaw, covering the hall from the opposite side of the frame that leads into the next hall, prepared to take down the guards who will undoubtedly come running when Shaw fires the shot to take out the first camera. The ex-operative aims her rifle at the camera and counts to three before she pulls the trigger. The bullet hits the camera, sending electrical sparks flying as it tumbles to the ground.

Footsteps ring out, quickly approaching as Root takes down the two guards that make their way around the corner a few seconds later, one shot for each. The three of them quickly make their way down the second hall and Shaw takes out the second camera before they approach the door to the small room at the opposite end of the last hallway.

Shaw kicks the door in and makes her way into the room, doing a quick sweep before her eyes fall on Control, strapped to a chair in a corner. An overhead light comes on, brightening the room and revealing the bomb attached to the woman, and a man standing behind her with a gun to the woman’s head. “We knew you’d show up sooner or later,” the man says.

“Samaritan is gone,” Shaw says to the agent. “Put your gun down and give us the code to disarm the bomb and then we can all leave. Nobody else needs to get hurt.”

The agent shakes his head. “Before you destroyed Samaritan, we were given strict orders. Nobody is leaving,” he says before he turns the gun on himself and pulls the trigger.

“God damn it,” Shaw says as the agent’s body crumbles to the ground.

Control lets out a sarcastic laugh and shakes her head, accepting her doomed fate. “At least I get to go out with a bang,” she says as her eyes fall on Root and John, a little shocked to see them. “You’re the last three people I expected to come to my rescue,” she says. “Especially you two; since our last encounter involved you kidnapping and torturing me.” Her gaze shifts to Shaw. “Believe it or not, I’m actually happy it seems you found what, or rather who, you were looking for.”

“Sorry about that,” Root says with a forced pout, unsympathetic and unapologetic about their last encounter. “Love can make you do terrible things,” she adds with a shrug.

Control looks between Root and Shaw, her eyes falling on the ring on Root’s finger when the overhead light reflects off it, and she snorts. “You two?” She thinks about it for a moment before she decides she’s not really surprised. She looks down at the timer attached to the bomb as it hits three minutes. “You should all get out of here,” she says. “The only person with the code to disarm this damn thing is dead and there’s no sense in all four of us getting blown to pieces.” Shaw shrugs and turns to leave, grabbing Root’s hand to pull her along. “That’s more like it,” Control scoffs and Shaw stops in her tracks, turning to face the woman, eye angry.

“You two go,” John tells the two women before Shaw has a chance to speak the resentment filled words that linger on her lips. “I’ll figure out how to disarm this thing without the code.”

Now Shaw hesitates. Leaving Control behind is one thing, but leaving the man who has become so much like a big brother to her is another. “No way,” she says. “We all go. Forget her. She’s not worth dying for, Reese.”

“The Machine gave us her number for a reason, Shaw. We can’t just leave her here.”

“Why not,” Control asks. “Why am I suddenly so important to your precious Machine?”

John shrugs his shoulders before he says anything. “Somewhere along the lines, you must have done something right and now she seems to think you’re important… or at least someone worth saving.” He looks back at Root and Shaw again. “Go,” he tells them. “If I don’t figure this out before it hits…” he looks at the time left on the timer as it continues to count down from two minutes, “forty-five seconds, then I’ll leave her.” Shaw considers it for a few seconds before she nods, taking Root’s hand again and leaving John behind.

“Why,” Control asks when the two women are gone. John gives her a funny look and she lets out a deep sigh before elaborating. “Why try and save me?”

“I already told you, for some reason the Machine seems to think you’re somebody worth saving. It’s not my place to decide that the Machine is wrong when she no doubt knows a lot more than I do.”

“Like you’ve never questioned the Machine’s motives or the things it’s asked you to do in the past.”

John is silent for a few seconds, deep in thought as he works on disarming the bomb. “You’re right,” he says eventually. “I have questioned her motives and the things she’s asked us to do, we all have, more than once. And every time we’ve questioned her, she’s turned out to be right.” He thinks back to when Samaritan first came online after their failure to carry out the Machine’s order for them to kill the senator they thought they’d been sent to save. Harold had questioned the Machine then and they’d ended up in the middle of a massive shit storm that almost cost them all great loss as a result. He knows now that if the Machine asks them to do something, then there’s a good chance it’s for the best that they do it.

Control looks down at the timer again, watching as the seconds continue to tick away. She looks back up at John when it hits forty-five seconds. “Go,” she tells him again. “You told your friends you’d leave if you didn’t disarm it by now. Don’t break your promise to them. Your Machine got this one wrong. Just go.”

John shakes his head and struggles with the device for a few more seconds before he finally manages to disarm it. He looks at the timer, frozen at ten seconds. He pulls the bomb off of the woman and cuts her loose from the chair. “Let’s go,” he says and leads the way back to the hatch. He can hear gun fire above ground and he quickly climbs the ladder, Control following close behind. He finds Root, Shaw, and Fusco firing shots at several agents approaching in SUVs. His eyes fall on Harold, sitting on the ground with his back against the car, eyes wide as bullets fly over his head.

“Took you long enough,” Shaw says as John and Control take cover behind Fusco’s car with the others.

“You weren’t worried were you, Shaw,” John teases and the ex-operative rolls her eyes, focusing her attention back on shooting the agents that jump out of two new SUVs that pull up, joining the four already parked a short distance away. “How many of these guys are left,” John says as he drops an empty magazine out of his gun and slides a new one in.

“Does anybody have a damn cell phone,” Control asks, raising her voice above the deafening sound of persistent gun fire, and Harold hands his over, watching as the woman quickly dials a number and presses the phone to her ear. “This is Control,” she says after a few seconds and rambles off some sort of identification number to whoever is on the other end of line so they have confirmation that it’s her. “I’ll explain everything later. Right now we’re pinned down somewhere in the damn Arizona desert.” She’s quiet again for a second before she says, “I don’t know, trace the damn call.” She hangs up and hands the phone back to Harold.

It isn’t long before they hear the deafening roar of an F-16 Fighting Falcon’s engine. They watch as it flies overhead and then quickly loops back. It’s silent for a few seconds before the deafening roar returns as another F-16 flies by. The roar of its engine is followed by a loud explosion and the SUVs erupt into flames.

Harold’s phone rings and he looks down at the screen. He shakily hands it to Control when he doesn’t recognize the number. “I think it’s for you,” he says.

Control takes the phone and presses it to her ear. Finch can hear somebody asking for confirmation that the targets are down. “Confirmed,” Control says. He hears the same voice tell Control that transport is on the way and then she hangs up the phone and hands it back to him again. The woman pushes herself up from the ground, watching as a helicopter approaches and slowly lands. She eyes the small group for a moment, wanting to thank them but unsure how to express her gratitude to four people who’ve always been closer to enemies than friends and the detective who somehow managed to get dragged into the middle of it all. “Thank you,” she says, deciding to keep it simple, before she stalks off toward the waiting helicopter.

Fusco makes his way around the vehicle, shaking his head as his eyes graze over each of the bullet holes peppering the doors and the broken windows shattered by the hail of bullets. He’s relieved that most of the damage seems to be mostly aesthetic, at least for now, but still irritated. “Next time, we’re taking somebody else’s car,” he proclaims.

Shaw stands up and offers a hand to Root before she dusts herself off and tosses her gun into the trunk of the car. “We have to stop in St. Louis on the way home,” she tells John as the man slides back into the driver’s seat.

“Why,” Reese asks, eager to get home.

“Because she promised me a steak that’s supposed to be better than sex,” Root says with a grin before Shaw has a chance to explain.

“St. Louis will have to wait until we stop for a few hours,” Finch says as he slides into the front passenger seat. “We all need a few hours of at least somewhat decent sleep. John will drive as long as he can, but then we’re stopping and catching up on a few hours of sleep at a hotel.” He half expects the others to try and argue with him, but they quietly accept his proposal.

 

*~*~*

 

The team stops early the next morning at a small backwater motel off route 283 in Kansas when John finally decides he can’t keep driving without a few hours of much needed sleep. They’re back on the road again before noon, Fusco volunteering to take the wheel until they get to St. Louis, once again bracing for a long six hour drive. He takes the keys from John and makes his way to the car, stopping when he looks in the back seat and finds two small boxes full of zucchinis. “Hey, where the hell did these zucchinis come from,” he says as he looks back at the others, pointing at the boxes.

Root, Shaw, and Harold shrug their shoulders and John looks between the boxes and Root and Shaw, a smirk on his face. “I don’t know where they came from, but I’m sure Root and Shaw will be happy to take them off your hands when we get home,” he jokes.

Shaw glares at John, jaw clenched, and Root snorts. “I will shoot you,” the ex-operative says, prompting another laugh from Root and making John smirk again as he moves the boxes from the backseat to the trunk before they all pile into the car.

“Radio, Lionel,” Root reminds the detective after he starts the engine and he lets out a deep sigh, quietly praying he isn’t going to have to deal with another karaoke session. He turns it up before she has a chance to ask and is relieved to find that the station it’s on is in the middle of a lengthy advertising break. He ignores an ad for the new Guardians of the Galaxy movie that plays, until he hears a quiet laugh from behind him, prompting him to glance up in the rearview mirror.

Root smiles at Shaw, still laughing quietly. Shaw glances at her. “What,” she asks curious what the woman finds so humorous.

“I am Root,” she says with a grin, mimicking the character named Groot, whose baby like voice penetrates their ears as the ad comes to an end. John laughs and Shaw shoots him a glare. “Don’t encourage her,” she says and he laughs again.

Fusco shakes his head, trying hard to keep his attention focused on the road and pressing his foot down harder on the gas. The less time he has to spend in the car with the rest of them, the better. Golden Earring’s Radar Love comes on once the ads are done and the detective is thankful that the station they’ve picked up at least seems to play decent music. His gratitude disappears as soon as he hears Root start to sing in the back. His foot grows heavier on the pedal and the speedometer hits 80 and then 85. The detective doesn’t see the motorcycle cop sitting on the side of the road, waiting for an unsuspecting speeder just like him.

Lights flash in the rearview mirror and the cop sounds the siren. Fusco glances up and lets out another deep sigh as he takes his foot off the gas and gently pushes down on the brake, bringing the car to a stop on the side of the road. He glances over his shoulder at Root, still singing to Shaw in the back, rather seductively. He can see Shaw desperately trying to hold back a grin as she stares at the women, shaking her head.

The cop gets off her bike and approaches the car, an eyebrow raised above the frame of her sunglasses as she looks over the bullet holes that litter the driver’s side. Fusco turns down the radio as she comes to a stop outside his broken window and Root suddenly stops singing and pouts. Fusco stares at the cop with pleading eyes. “Please, help me,” he says and her eyebrow rises a little higher as she looks over everybody in the car. 

“Do you know how fast you were going, sir,” the cop asks and Fusco shakes his head. “You were doing 85 in a 65,” she tells him. “Can I see your license and registration please?” Fusco pulls his license out of his wallet and asks Harold to get the vehicle registration out of the glove compartment. He hands both to the cop and watches as she looks over them, jaw moving up and down as she chews on a piece of gum. She hands both back to Lionel after a few seconds. “Mind telling me what happened to the car,” she asks.

Fusco gives her a confused look before he remembers their shootout with a few remaining Samaritan agents the afternoon before. He flashes his badge and shrugs his shoulders. “Just one of those occupational hazards,” he says, hoping she’ll buy it. “Just haven’t gotten the chance to get it fixed up yet,” he adds.

The cop considers what he says for a moment before she nods. “Alright, Detective,” she says. “I’m letting you off with a warning. But slow down a bit from here on out. Our job is enough of a risk as it is. No point in taking on even more risk by doing twenty miles an hour or more over the speed limit. I’d hate to have to scrape up a fellow brother in blue off the road later because of his own recklessness,” she says. Fusco nods and she starts to make her way back to her bike, the detective ogling her as she walks away.

Root snickers and sticks her head out the window when she catches Fusco’s gaze still lingering on the cop. “I am Root,” she says knowing it will irritate the detective.

The cop glances back over her shoulder, eyebrow raised again, and the detective shakes his head as he rests it on the steering wheel. “Will you please do something about your Loony Toon kids,” he says looking up at Harold, and a small smile forms on the man’s face.

Fusco waits until the cop rides off before he pulls the car back out onto the road. He pushes the limit again, but not as much as he was before. He manages to get a little over an hour of relative peace and quiet before Shaw’s voice penetrates his ears.  “Are we there yet,” she asks.

“No,” Fusco says and glares at her in the rearview mirror. “And don’t start that crap.”

The ex-operative laughs and then falls quiet for a few minutes before she asks again. Lionel ignores her and she repeats the question a couple times until he glares up at her again. Harold glances at the detective and then over his shoulder at the ex-operative. “Honestly, Ms. Shaw,” he says and she laughs again and then falls quiet, deciding that she’s sufficiently annoyed the detective.

Just as soon as Shaw decides to grant Lionel a little more of the peace and quiet he craves, John decides it’s his turn. He looks between Root and Shaw beside him, and Harold and Fusco in the front before he starts belting out 99 Bottles of Beer. He gets about halfway through the song before Lionel decides he can’t take it anymore. “If you three don’t knock it off, you’re all gonna cause me to break my sobriety and are gonna have to buy me a few rounds of something a hell of a lot stronger than beer,” he says and John laughs, proud of himself.

It’s quiet again, nothing but the radio and the wind blowing through the car to fill Fusco’s ears as he drives on. It lasts until they’re just outside of St. Louis. Root sleeps with her head on Shaw’s shoulder until she’s woken up by Shaw and John bickering back and forth after John accidentally touches Shaw’s leg while trying to re-position himself, legs cramping from sitting in the confined backseat for so long. “Don’t touch me,” Shaw says, tired and cranky and sick of being stuck in the car.

John parts his lips to apologize, but then decides to take advantage of the ex-operative’s irritability instead. He raises an eyebrow and gently shoves her shoulder. Shaw glares at him and shoves back. “Stop fucking touching me,” she says and moves closer to Root.

Fusco glances at Harold before he looks up in the rearview mirror yet again. He knew the quiet wouldn’t last forever. “Hey, don’t make me send your mother back there,” he says.

Finch looks over his shoulder at Shaw and John and then turns his gaze to Fusco. “I want a divorce,” he says and turns his attention back to the road, a small smile once again played across his lips as Fusco pulls the car into the parking lot of the restaurant Shaw insisted they have to stop at.

“You’re all nuts,” the detective says.

“I am Root,” Root says sleepily, with a quiet laugh, in response to Fusco’s comment and the detective shakes his head and finally pulls the car into an empty parking space. He pulls the key out of the ignition and gets out before the others have a chance to unbuckle their seatbelts, desperate to get away from them even if only for a few seconds.


	22. Inferno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, here's a list of music I listened to while working on this chapter: Magic by Jasmin Thompson, Sanctuary by Darling Violetta, A Wish (keep Fighting) by Dr1ve, and Miami Showdown by Digitalism

The five of them decide to spend the night in St. Louis. They stop at a grocery store to pick up a bottle of wine to share before they track down a hotel. Fusco waits in the car, already tired of listening to Root tease Shaw about how the steak was good but not quite better than sex.

Root, Shaw, John, and Harold wander into the store. They head for the wine first and Root grabs two bottles. “We need snacks,” Shaw announces and Harold lets out a deep sigh, following behind the three of them, the ex-operative leading them through the store in search of the snacks she insists they need.

They wander through the produce section and the word choice on a package of beef catches John’s attention. He takes a closer look at the label that reads “boneless stuffed butt whole” and smirks as he picks up the package, showing it to the others. Root raises an eyebrow and Shaw snorts and then the two women carry on, leaving Finch and Reese behind. Harold stares at John for a few seconds, shaking his head. “Honestly, Mr. Reese? It’s as if being in the car for so long really has turned all three of you into children.”

John laughs and puts the beef back where he picked it up from and then he and Harold catch up to Root and Shaw. The ex-operative gets her snacks and they make their way through one of the short checkout lines.

They find a small motel to spend the night in and share a few glasses of wine, using the cheap plastic cups in their rooms, and spend some time relaxing and joking around. Before long, they split into two separate rooms, all desperate for some much needed to sleep.  

They’re up early the next morning and John volunteers to drive the rest of the way home. He manages to get them back to New York in a little less than fifteen hours and he drops Root, Shaw, and Harold off at the house before he and Fusco head back to the precinct.

There’s a new car parked next to Harold’s in the driveway and all three of them eye it curiously. Grace meets them at the door, catching their curious glances. “It was dropped off last night,” she tells them. “The people who dropped it off said it was a gift from an acquaintance. They said to give this to you,” she says handing a letter and the keys to the car over to Shaw. The ex-operative steps into the house, unfolding the letter and reading over it quickly.

               

                _Agent Shaw,_

_It seems you’re friends are quite good at flying under the radar. You and your fiancé were the only two I managed to get an exact address for. By the time you get this you’ll likely have noticed the new vehicle in your driveway. You may do with it as you please, maybe pass it along to your detective friend to make up for the damage done to his vehicle during your shootout with those Samaritan agents in Arizona, or keep it for yourself; what you chose to do with it makes no difference to me. I simply wished to offer it to you and your friends as a token of gratitude. Were it not for the five of you, I’d still be locked in a hole in the ground in the middle of nowhere, or in pieces in that same hole. I appreciate your willingness to overlook our previous encounters and risk your lives to save me._

_-Control_

Shaw folds the letter and tosses it on the coffee table, a small smile played across her lips. Her gaze wanders to the car, visible through the living room window. It’s an unexpected gift, but it’s appreciated and it will come in handy.

Harold casts a curious gaze at the letter on the table and he picks it up to read it before handing it off to Root. “I’m sure detective Fusco won’t mind if you keep the car,” he says. “I’m sure it will be useful to the two of you and will make it so you no longer have to borrow mine.”

Shaw nods in agreement and pockets the keys. Gen wanders out of her room, with Bear, to greet Root and Shaw and say goodbye to Harold and Grace before they leave. She smiles up at the two women and hugs them both, once again relieved that they’ve returned when she was worried they might not. “Can we go out for Chinese,” she asks after a few minutes, stomach grumbling.

“How about we order in instead,” Root suggests and Shaw nods in agreement again before she retrieves a beer from the refrigerator and returns to the living room and plops herself down on the couch, exhausted.

“Okay,” Gen agrees with a shrug, satisfied.

 

*~*~*

 

Early morning sunlight filters into the bedroom despite the clouds dumping flakes of soft white snow over the city. Shaw shuffles out into the kitchen, somehow dressed despite the fatigue she still feels after their four day road trip to Arizona and back. “Sorry, sweetie,” Root says as soon as the ex-operative steps into the kitchen. “You’ll have to take your coffee to go this morning.”

The ex-operative eyes the woman, already dressed and wide awake. She notices the droplets of water on her leather jacket. “Have you been out already?”

“Had to make a stop to pick up a few things before we go,” Root tells her and hands over a travel mug full of coffee before heading for the door again, Shaw close behind. She ducks into the passenger seat of the new car and Shaw slides into the driver’s seat, taking a long sip from the mug before starting the car and backing out of the driveway. Root feeds her directions from the Machine and almost thirty minutes later they come to a stop in front of a house that looks vacant. Root gets out of the car and makes her way to the trunk, pulling out two partial sets of turnout gear she swiped from a fire house not far from their house earlier.

Shaw looks at her with a raised eyebrow as she pulls her set of gear on. “What the hell is this all about,” she asks.

Root shrugs. “She said we might need it,” Root says pulling on the jacket. A man runs out of the house a few seconds before there’s a loud explosion and the house erupts in flames. Shaw grabs the man, as he runs past them, and throws him to the ground. “She says our number is still in there,” Root says, pulling the ex-operative’s attention away from the man.

Shaw stares at her, wide eyed. “There’s no way I’m letting you go in there,” she says.

“I don’t have a choice,” Root insists and starts for the door, bracing for the heat.

“Damn it Root, screw the number,” Shaw yells, letting the man go and following after her fiancé. Sirens blare somewhere in the distance as they make their way through the front door. “The fire department is coming. Let them deal with it. It’s too dangerous.”

“She says we don’t have time to wait.”

“Bullshit,” Shaw says, raising her voice over the roar of the flames, the scent of gasoline assaulting her nose. “They’re already coming.” She stands in the doorway for a minute, expecting the fire department to pull up any second. The sirens she heard in the distance grow closer and then fade again, not meant for them. She turns around, struggling to see through the smoke clouding her vision. “Root,” she calls, no longer able to see the woman. The only response is a loud cracking noise followed by a startled cry and a thud. Shaw follows the sound, finding it harder to breathe the further into the house she wanders, until she comes to a hole in the floor leading into the basement. “Root,” she calls again, fear evident in her voice.

The flames light up the basement and for a second Shaw can see Root on the ground below before smoke clouds her vision again. She sits on the edge of the hole and hops down, landing on her feet beside the woman. “Root,” she says again as she pulls the woman into her arms.

“Help,” somebody calls out from somewhere else in the basement. “Please, help me.”

Shaw’s head snaps in the direction of the voice, her breathing becoming shallower. “Next time the Machine sends us into a burning building, she better tell you to steal oxygen tanks too,” Shaw says. She holds Root close to her, ignoring the coughing and pleas for help coming from the corner a short distance away. Root doesn’t respond to her and she knows the woman is out and it strikes even more fear into her heart. She knows she can only save one, and there’s no way she’s choosing a stranger over her fiancé. She can hear sirens again and the engine of a heavy truck and this time she knows it must be the fire department and that they must be there for them. “Somebody else will come for you,” she says to the person in the corner still begging for her help as she lifts Root into her arms and pushes toward the stairs that are just barely visible.

She’s met at the door by two firefighters. One takes Root from her and carries the woman toward a waiting ambulance. The other watches as Root is loaded into the ambulance before he turns to Shaw, noticing their attire. “You two aren’t real firefighters,” he observes.

The ex-operative strips out of the heavy jacket and hands it off to the guy. “No,” she says and brushes past him, not in the mood for a lecture about the obvious dangers of running into a burning building without the proper training and all of the proper gear. “There’s another guy inside; in the basement,” she adds.

“What happened,” a paramedic asks her as she climbs into the ambulance.

“The floor gave away. She fell.” Shaw stares at the paramedic, fear and concern in her eyes. “Please tell me she’ll be okay,” she begs.

The paramedic looks between Root and Shaw and does her best to give the ex-operative a reassuring smile. “It looks like she may have hit her head and inhaled a lot of smoke. We’ll do the best we can.”

Shaw glares at the paramedic, eyes demanding that they make damn sure she doesn’t lose the one person she truly loves. She swallows hard and fights back tears that sting her eyes. She can’t go through the pain of losing Root again. She laces her fingers between Root’s and watches the paramedic work for a minute before she gazes out the back window of the ambulance as they begin to move, watching as one of the firefighters walks out of the house with a limp body in his arms.

Harold’s voice sounds in the ex-operative’s ear. “Ms. Shaw, where are you? Ms. Groves said she got a new number. I was going to send John to help the two of you.”

Shaw turns on her com but doesn’t say anything, the sound of the ambulance siren the only thing being relayed.

“Ms. Shaw,” Harold says, concern in his voice. “Is… is that a siren? What’s going on? Are you alright?”

“What’s her name,” the paramedic asks.

“It’s Root,” Shaw says.

There’s silence over the com as everything sinks in for Harold. “I’ll meet you at the hospital,” he says.

 

*~*~*

 

Harold wanders into the room with a cup of crappy hospital coffee and tries to hand it off to Shaw, but the ex-operative shakes her head, attention focused on Root and the constant, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. “Have you had anything to eat or drink today,” he asks her.

Shaw recalls the one long sip of coffee when she and Root left the house hours ago and she shakes her head again.

“Ms. Shaw,” Harold says with a deep sigh. “The doctor said she’ll be fine. You need to eat something and you need to hydrate.”

“I’ll worry about that when she wakes up,” Shaw insists. She glances at Harold and then turns her attention back to Root, still sound asleep. Memories from just a couple weeks ago, when she thought she’d lost Root for good, replay in her head and tears sting her eyes again. She knows the woman will be fine this time, just like she was then, but she can’t get past knowing that she came so close to losing her again.

Root stirs a few minutes later. Her eyes flutter open and then close again, not prepared for the light that assaults her eyes. She opens them again slowly and turns to look at Shaw sitting in a chair beside her. It doesn’t take her long to realize she’s in a hospital.

“I’ll get the doctor,” Harold says when he notices she’s awake. He steps out of the room, leaving the two women alone for a minute.

“What happened,” Root asks.

“The floor gave out and you fell and hit your head. The doctor said you’ve got a mild concussion and some damage from smoke inhalation.” Shaw stares at Root for a second, letting her words sink in before she goes on. “For a second I was scared I was going to lose you again,” she says and then looks away. “Don’t you dare ever do something like that again,” she demands, looking back at the woman again.  

Root tightens her grip on Shaw’s hand. She knows the whole short ordeal must have reminded the ex-operative of her and the Machine’s plan to throw Samaritan off by faking her death. She gives Shaw a reassuring smile. “I’m right here,” she reminds her. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

The door to the room opens and Harold steps back in, followed close behind by the doctor who checks over her chart and updates her vitals. He tells Root what Shaw already told her and lets her know that they’d like to keep her overnight for observation and that she can go home in the morning. He smiles at the three of them and then leaves the room again.

“What happened to our number,” Root asks Shaw and the ex-operative shakes her head, remembering the limp body one of the firefighters carried out just a minute or two after she brought Root out.

“I had to choose,” Shaw tells her. “And I couldn’t choose some stranger over you.” She stares at Root, eyes apologetic.

Root’s grip on her hand tightens again. “It’s okay,” she assures the ex-operative. “What about the guy who started the fire?”

“Ms. Shaw gave me a description. With the Machine’s help, I was able to identify him. I sent Mr. Reese and detective Fusco to look for him,” Harold tells her.

Root nods. Things didn’t turn out how she’d hoped this time, but she can accept it. She already knows they can’t save everyone. If nothing else, at least they’ll be able to track down the perpetrator and ensure he can’t hurt anyone else, and that’s good enough for her.

A payphone in the hallway outside the room rings and the three of them exchange a glance before Harold steps out to answer it. “What is it,” Shaw asks when he returns a few seconds later.

“The Machine just gave me our perpetrators’ number and another new number. It seems she thinks he may try to hurt someone else,” he says, thankful that John and Fusco are already attempting to track him down. He calls John to give him the new information and quietly prays the two men find their perpetrator before he has a chance to hurt anyone else.

 

*~*~*

 

Fusco brings his car to a screeching halt when he spots a man matching the description Finch gave him and John. The man takes off out of a nearby building and jogs across the street, jumping the wall and heading into Central Park. John gets out of the car and chases after the man and Fusco reaches across for the mic as an explosion rings out and flames burst through the windows of an apartment on the tenth floor. “This is detective Fusco,” he says into the mic. “I’m at the corner of 5th and 75th, in front of the 5th Avenue apartments. There’s been an explosion. We need back up and the fire department.” He waits for confirmation before he gets out of the car and makes his way toward the building as people start pouring out, alerted to the fire quickly spreading through the upper floors by the fire alarms that ring throughout the building. He climbs the stairs as quickly as he can in search of their other number, bracing against the heat as he approaches the tenth floor. “Anybody still up here,” he calls.

Somebody coughs and tries to call for help and Fusco follows the sound, kicking open the door of the apartment the coughing comes from. Flames leap out at him and he backs up before pushing through. He finds a woman on the floor, not far from the door, badly burnt and struggling to breathe. He lifts her into his arms, fighting back the urge to cough as smoke fills his lungs, and carries her out of the apartment.

Firefighters are on their way up the stairs as he starts to head down and they take the woman from him and help him down and out of the building as he gives up his fight to resist coughing. Paramedics force him to sit in the back of an ambulance and place a mask over his face, instructing him to take slow, deep breaths. He holds the mask to his face, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly and watching as the paramedics load the woman into another ambulance and take off.

               

John chases their perpetrator through the park. He pulls his gun and shoots the man in the back of the knee, prompting a few bystanders to scream out when they hear the shot and see the man stumble forward and fall to the ground. John flashes his badge and holsters his gun as he approaches the man. Before he reaches him, the man gets up and tries to limp away. John catches up and tackles him back to the ground. “You fucking shot me,” the man spits at him. “Why did you fucking shoot me?”

“Well, to start with, you almost killed a friend of mine,” John says as he slaps a pair of cuffs onto the man. “You’re under arrest for murder, attempted murder, and arson,” he says and pulls the man up from the ground. He drags him back out of the park and hands him over to a few uniformed officers who lead him toward another waiting ambulance.

“Next time, I’ll chase the suspect and you can go in the burning building,” Fusco says when John approaches him.

“Should have waited for the fire department, Lionel,” John tells him with a smirk.

“Like you would have waited,” Fusco retorts.

“Fair point,” John says. “What about our victim?”

“They took her to the hospital. She was pretty beat up by the time I got to her,” Fusco says with a sad look in his eyes.

John nods and turns on his com. “We got him, Finch. Not before he lit up an apartment building though.”

“Is everyone alright,” Harold asks.

“Fusco pulled our victim out. He says she was in bad shape though. They took her to the hospital.”

“What about detective Fusco,” Finch asks.

John eyes his partner and the oxygen mask he holds in his hand that’s no longer necessary. “He’ll be fine,” John tells Finch and hears the man let out a sigh of relief.  

 

 

 

               

 

               


	23. Turning Page

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, here's a list of the songs I listened to while working on this chapter: Doot Doot by Freur, Turning Page by Sleeping at Last, Holocene by Bon Iver, and She is the Sunlight by Trading Yesterday

Shaw reaches for Root as she slowly begins to wake up, early afternoon sun illuminating the room. Her hand touches sheets that have gone cold and her eyes flutter open, falling on the empty space beside her. She sits up and wipes the remaining sleep from her eyes before she pushes herself out of the bed. The front door opens as the ex-operative shuffles out of the bedroom and into the living room, a brief gust of cold air blowing through and raising goose bumps on her arms, left exposed by her tank top. Shaw stares at Root, eyes questioning when she notices that the woman is dressed in army fatigues, hair covered in flakes of snow that quickly melt. The ex-operative raises an eyebrow. “Did I miss something,” she asks.

“The Machine gave me another number this morning,” Root tells Shaw, her voice carrying a nasally inflection that tips the ex-operative off to the cold that’s begun to set in.

“The doctor said to take it easy for a few days, I’m pretty sure he meant more than two,” the ex-operative gently scolds.

Root smiles. “You didn’t seem too concerned about taking it easy last night,” she says, eyes turning thirsty as she looks over the ex-operative with a grin, remembering the night before.

Shaw’s face reddens for a second and then she shakes her head and laughs under her breath before turning and making her way to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. “You really are a smartass,” she says looking over her shoulder at Root when she hears the woman follow her into the kitchen.

“I know,” Root says with a grin. “The three of us have to be at Harry’s in a little over an hour.”

“Why,” Shaw asks.

“It’s Thanksgiving,” Root tells her, a little shocked that the ex-operative seems to have forgotten the holiday, but understanding given how hectic the last few days have been.

“Shit,” Shaw mutters. She turns her attention to the pot of coffee, pouring a cup full and taking a long sip, embracing the warmth it offers and the caffeine that slowly begins to stimulate her still exhausted brain. She laughs after a few seconds when a thought occurs to her. “We have to stop at the store on the way there,” she says and Root gives her a curious look. “I have to pick something up,” is all the explanation she’s willing to give and Root raises an eyebrow, staring at the ex-operative for a few seconds, before she wanders off to their bedroom to take a quick shower and change.

Gen shuffles out of her room and sits at the table in the kitchen. “Can I have some,” she asks eying the cup in Shaw’s hands.

The ex-operative hesitates, tempted to tell the girl no. Instead, she grabs another cup out of the cupboard and fills it a little less than halfway before setting it in front of the girl. Gen picks it up and takes a cautious sip, her nose wrinkling when the bitter, black liquid touches her tongue, assaulting her taste buds. “Ew,” the girl proclaims and Shaw laughs before she grabs a carton of milk out of the fridge and sugar out of another cupboard. She lets Gen decide for herself how much of each she wants, and watches her dump four spoonfuls of sugar into the cup before she decides to intervene.

“Okay, I think that’s enough sugar,” Shaw says taking the container of tiny white granules and putting it away.

Gen turns her attention to the milk instead and she opens the carton and pours until the cup is filled to the rim. She carefully lifts it to her lips again, quickly drinking the heavily sweetened mixture. “Where’s mo…” she catches and corrects herself before she finishes the word, “I mean, where’s Root,” she asks.

Shaw eyes Gen carefully, catching the slip up. She raises an eyebrow and then smiles. The smile fades after a few seconds as she thinks about the sort of life the girl has lived so far. Her father took off, her mother was imprisoned. She was supposed to be under the care of her grandfather, but he was gone too and she’d been left with her slime ball of a cousin who was more interested in snorting drugs up his nose than taking care of the girl. She realizes that, even despite their busy schedule and their lack of ability to really spend much time with Gen, she and Root are probably still the closest thing the girl has ever had to parents. The thought scares her for some reason, perhaps the idea of the responsibility that comes with taking on that sort of a roll in the young girl’s life. She pushes the thought aside. “She’s in the shower,” she tells Gen.

Bear gets up from his bed in the living room and stands by the backdoor, patiently waiting to be let out, distracting Shaw and Gen from the thoughts that fill their minds. Shaw opens the door and lets the dog out, watching him prance around the backyard, nipping at the snowflakes that fall in front of him.

The ex-operative finishes her coffee and sets the cup in the sink before she disappears into the bedroom. She briefly slips into the shower with Root before the woman gets out and quickly dries herself off. Gen’s slip up returns to the forefront of the ex-operative’s mind and she smiles again. “What are you up to,” Root asks her when the ex-operative steps out of the shower a few minutes later, smile still played across her lips.

For a moment, she considers telling Root about the young girls slip, but decides against it, figuring it’s better if she leaves that up to Gen instead. “Nothing,” she says. “Just thinking.”

Root considers Shaw’s answer for a moment before she accepts it, assuming Shaw will fill her in on whatever’s on her mind when she’s ready. She pulls the ex-operative in for a quick kiss before she wanders back to the kitchen. She pours herself a cup of coffee, lets Bear back in, and sits across from Gen, watching the girl sip from her cup filled primarily with milk and sugar.

“Can we go to the zoo,” the girl asks, looking up from her cup and bouncing excitedly in her chair, obviously already hyped up on the sugar.

Root thinks about the girl’s request for a minute before she nods. “We’ll take you tomorrow, as long as no work comes up,” she promises and a satisfied smile crosses Gen’s lips.

               

               

*~*~*

 

John and Zoe get to Harold’s apartment at the same time as Root, Shaw, and Gen. The five of them make their way into the building together and Shaw gives John a glimpse of the bottle of bourbon she stopped to pick up on the way there. John looks at the label and he chuckles.

Grace greets them at the door, letting them all into the apartment. The smell of several traditional dishes mingle and float through the apartment and Shaw’s stomach growls with anticipation. “I brought the turkey,” the ex-operative says with a grin and hands the bottle of Wild Turkey off to Harold who smiles and shakes his head, setting the bottle aside.

Fusco and his son sit on the edge of the leather couch in the living room, intently watching the football game playing on the TV. Elias sits in a chair with a smile on his face, amused by the detective and his son as they cheer on their team.

A smile creeps across Root’s lips as takes in the scene, happy to be a part of the little family they’ve put together. The pop of a cork sounds, alerting everyone that it’s time to eat and Root, Shaw, Gen, Zoe, John, Fusco, Li, and Elias all wander into the dining room, joining Grace and Harold at the table. They sit down, filling their glasses with the bottle of wine that’s passed around, Gen and Li filling their glasses with soda, and their plates with each dish that’s passed around the table. Elias stands before they get a chance to start eating, and they all look at him, waiting for him to share what’s on his mind. He clears his throat before he speaks. “I just wanted to say how thankful I am to be a part of this little family,” he says. “And to be able to spend this day with all of you.” He smiles and raises his glass. “To great friends who have become family.”

They all clink their glasses together and Elias sits back down. “Can we eat now,” Shaw asks half joking and they all laugh and dig in, sharing memories of the time they’ve all spent together over the last few years.

Root and Zoe help Grace and Harold clean up when they’re done eating, while Shaw, John, Fusco, and Elias crowd into the living room to watch another football game, and Gen and Li play a board game they find.

“How goes the wedding planning,” Grace asks Root when they’re alone for a moment, Zoe and Harold gathering dishes in the dining room. “Set a date yet?”

Root smiles and nods. “It’ll be a week before Christmas,” she tells Grace. Two days stuck at home after being released from the hospital after the fire gave her plenty of time to make a few phone calls and set a date. As Grace had predicted, it was going to cost a little extra to get everything together so quickly, but with the Machine back cost wouldn’t be much of an issue for them.

Grace smiles at the women, happy for her and Shaw. She can see in Root’s eyes that the woman is excited for the special occasion that’s only a few short weeks away and the excitement rubs off on her, for both Root and Shaw’s wedding as well as her own. Her smile widens as she thinks about Harold and the same special occasion they’ll soon share, the vows they’ll soon get the chance to exchange.

“What about you and Harold,” Root’s voice interrupts Grace’s thoughts.

“We’re thinking sometime in early Spring,” she tells Root. It’s a longer wait than she’d like, but she knows Harold wants time for the two of them to catch up and time to really plan out their wedding.

Zoe and Harold return to the kitchen with a stack of dishes and the four of them go to work fitting them into the dishwasher and washing a few things by hand, listening to the occasional cheers and shouts emanating from the living room in response to whatever football game is on.

 

*~*~*

 

Zoe unlocks the door to her apartment and she and John step inside, both exhausted thanks to the turkey and other food resting in their stomachs. John sticks his hands in his pockets, the fingers of his right hand wrapping around the small box hidden away in the pocket, and he watches Zoe slip off her shoes and strip out of her jacket, wet with tiny flakes of melting snow. He meant to ask her while they were at Harold’s, but he ended up with a case of cold feet, uncertain whether it was the right time, uncertain if perhaps it was too soon.

They’ve known each other for a few years now, since the first time John swooped in to rescue Zoe and aid in her fight to take down one of her clients. Since then, they’d been occasional lovers, and their time spent as an actual couple had been short. Still, John’s uncertainty about just how deep his feelings run for her are now gone. He knows now that he does indeed love her, and that if she would grant him the honor, he would like to spend the rest of his life with her by his side, not just as his friend or occasional lover, but as his wife.

She’d made it clear that she loves him as well, though he’d failed to say the words back to her after she’d spoken them to him for the first time a little over a week ago, leaving her wondering. Despite the three words replaying over and over again in his head in her voice, he still isn’t certain if she’ll accept his proposal so soon after they finally decided to make the relationship they share more than just an infrequent night of shared passion. The small box grows heavy in his fingers and he wonders if perhaps he should have waited to purchase the ring, now that he suddenly isn’t so sure about his desire to ask the woman to marry him, now that he isn’t so sure that either of them is ready to take that big step forward.

Zoe feels his lingering gaze on her and she glances at him before taking off to the bedroom, yearning to rest her head on the soft pillows and pull warm sheets over her cool skin. She can tell that something is on his mind and her eyes turn curious, eager to know what deep thoughts seem to suddenly plague him. “What’s on your mind,” she asks him.

John lets the box slip out of his fingers, once again deciding that it isn’t time yet. He’ll ask her someday, just not today. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and finally takes his jacket off, forcing a small smile. “It’s nothing,” he tells her. “Just tired.”

She considers his answer for a few seconds before she finally accepts it, though she knows there must be something on his mind that he isn’t telling her. She tells herself that, whatever it is, he’ll share it with her when he’s ready. She takes a few steps toward him, closing the space between them. “Me too,” she says with a gentle smile and pulls him in for a kiss before they shuffle off to the bedroom, both longing for sleep that comes quickly.

 

*~*~*

 

Root wanders off to the bedroom when they get home, tired and her fatigue making her cold seem worse; the cold she hopes will somehow be better, rather than worse, in the morning so she can fulfill her promise that they would take Gen to the zoo. She slips under the covers, resting her head back against her pillow.

Shaw looks down at the watch on her wrist, making note of how late it is, and she sends Gen off to bed before she shuffles into the kitchen. She makes a cup of tea, spiking it with a bit of whiskey, the old Irish cure for anything, and carries it to the bedroom. Shaw hands the cup off to Root before she wanders into the bathroom and shuffles through the medicine cabinet until she finds a bottle of cold medicine stored away. “Take this,” the ex-operative says handing over the small medicine cup full of dark liquid that the bottle she left on the counter claims is supposed to be cherry flavored. She watches as Root reluctantly lifts the little plastic cup to her lips and tips the liquid into her mouth, scrunching her nose as it hits her tongue. She hands the cup back to Shaw and slowly drinks the hot tea, eager to get the taste of the medicine out of her mouth. She sets the cup on the nightstand beside the bed when it’s empty.

The ex-operative puts the medicine away and then slides into bed beside Root. “Gen asked if we’d take her to the zoo tomorrow,” she tells Shaw.

“And you said yes,” Shaw guesses and Root nods. The ex-operative smiles at her fiancé, red nosed and glassy eyed and still as beautiful as ever. She rests a hand on the woman’s cheek, caressing Root’s soft skin with a gentle thumb. “Better get to sleep then,” she says. “And hope that medicine actually does everything the bottle says it’s supposed to,” she adds with a quiet laugh. Root laughs too and leans in to kiss Shaw. “You better not pass that cold on to me,” the ex-operative jokes and they both laugh again and then fall silent, Shaw’s hand still resting against Root’s cheek as she stares into the woman’s eyes, letting herself get lost in tired, but happy brown irises that seem to shine like the sun and are filled with so much love. “I love you,” Shaw says after a few seconds.

A smile spreads across Root’s lips and she presses them against the palm of Shaw’s hand. “I love you too,” she whispers and they share another kiss before Root cuddles into the ex-operative, finding comfort and warmth in the arms that wrap around her as the two of them drift off to sleep.

               

               


	24. Devil’s Share

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, here are the song I listened to while working on this chapter: Real Peach by Henry Jamison, Anything You Synthesis by The American Dollar, and Mama by Genesis

Root snaps pictures of Shaw as they follow Gen around the zoo. Occasionally, the young girl poses in front of the animals or sticks her head in one of the cardboard cut outs set up throughout the zoo and Root snaps a few pictures of her too. The ex-operative grumbles every time she hears the camera go off when it’s pointed in her direction, but she quietly appreciates Root’s sudden obsession with constantly snapping photos. She groans, but still smiles as she imagines sitting with the woman in the future, once their hair starts to turn gray and their skin begins to wrinkle, looking through the pictures and reminiscing about the past.

They move on from the wolves and Gen takes off for the elephants. Root rests her head on Shaw’s shoulder. The family standing nearby eventually moves on and once their gone Shaw slips her arm around Root’s waist and the three of them contently watch the elephants play for a while until Gen grows board with them. She climbs up on a nearby rock, waving for Shaw to follow her and demanding that she turn around in front of the girl. When Shaw reluctantly complies, Gen hops onto the ex-operative’s back, a beaming smile on her face.

Root snaps a photo of the gleeful girl and the woman who does her best to look mildly agitated. As hard as Shaw tries to look annoyed, it’s still obvious that she’s enjoying herself. “When do I get a turn,” Root asks, only half joking, and laughs at the un-amused glare she gets from Shaw.

“To the panther and then the fox,” Gen demands.

“We’ve already seen them both. Don’t you want to see something different,” Shaw asks with a sigh.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because the panther and the fox are my favorites. The panther reminds me of you and the fox reminds me of Root.”

The analogy prompts another smile from Root and reminds her of something she said to John what now feels like forever ago, when they were searching for Shaw after Samaritan took her, _“nothing kills that cat.”_ It makes her happy that so far it seems to be true. “I think the panther is my favorite too,” she says with a wink and grins at Shaw.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Shaw’s mouth as she starts walking in the direction Gen demands. The fox is definitely her favorite, but she won’t admit that, at least not out loud in front of the dozens of other people they pass along the way, braving the cold to spend the day staring at animals.

Root catches the small smile that forms on Shaw’s lips that the ex-operative tries to hide and she knows the confession that Shaw keeps to herself as they walk along. Her smile grows and she snaps another picture of Shaw with Gen on her back as they walk and this time, instead of groaning, Shaw’s smile grows when she notices the camera pointed in her direction.

 

*~*~*

 

 

John makes his way down to the subway platform and onto the subway car. “Who’s our new number,” he asks, startling Finch.

The man jumps and turns in his chair. “Must you sneak up on me like that, Mr. Reese,” he asks and John shrugs his shoulders, lips forming into his usual smirk. Harold lets out a deep sigh and turns back to his computer. “Our number’s name is Rodger Vincent,” he says as he pulls up information about the man on the computer. He doesn’t look like somebody who’d be in any sort of trouble, but then it seems they almost never do. “He’s a twenty-three year old bank teller. There isn’t much else to tell. His father was killed in a car accident two years ago. His mother is still alive, though it seems he doesn’t keep in contact with her. It doesn’t appear that he has any siblings. He’s had a few girlfriends in recent months, but the relationships don’t seem to last long.”

“Anything that might give us a clue about what sort of trouble he might be in,” John asks.

Harold shakes his head. “He recently applied for a gun permit.” He’s quiet as he thinks for a moment. “He works at a bank. Perhaps he’s planning to rob his place of employment,” Finch suggests.

John thinks about it for a minute before he nods, agreeing that it might be a possibility. “I guess the only way to find out it is to go keep an eye on him. I’ll call Shaw and let her know to meet me at the bank where he works.”

“Actually, Mr. Reese, you’ll be working with detective Fusco on this one.” John gives Finch a curious look. “Ms. Shaw asked for the day off so she and Ms. Groves could take Genrika to the zoo,” he explains.

A smile spreads across John’s lips as he pictures the three of them at the zoo. “Shaw is voluntarily spending the day roaming around the zoo, in the cold, with Root and a kid?” He laughs quietly, continuing to imagine the three of them like a little family. He can’t help but think that Shaw is full of surprises lately.

“It seems there is a much… softer side of Ms. Shaw that she did a good job of keeping hidden from us until recently. I suspect spending almost a week believing that Ms. Groves was dead may have played a big part in encouraging her to show that side of herself, rather than continuing to keep the emotions she was feeling hidden well below the surface.” He’s quiet for a moment and then adds, “it isn’t often we get second chances, Mr. Reese, and when they’re given to us it’s best we take advantage of them because there’s a good chance we won’t get a third. That’s something I suspect Ms. Shaw realized when Root came back.”

John thinks about Harold’s words for a few seconds before he nods, knowing the man is right. He turns to head for the stairs, anxious to get to their number and find out what he might be up to.

“Mr. Reese,” Harold calls before John reaches the top step. He turns to face the man, waiting for him to go on. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to Sameen about out little chat.” John nods, silently vowing that his lips are sealed, and then pushes past the vending machine.

 

*~*~*

 

Fusco waits in his car with John, keeping a close eye on the bank where their new number works. John looks down at his watch, eyes following the hands as the seconds tick by and the hour hand finally falls over the one. He turns his attention back to the doors, focusing on a scrawny looking young man that John recognizes at Rodger Vincent. “That’s him,” John says, jolting Fusco out of the slumber he’s begun to drift into. Reese watches as the man slips his hands into his coat pockets and he notices the right side of the heavy coat hanging a little lower than the left. “He’s got a gun,” Reese guesses.

They watch as he slides into a car and pulls out into traffic. “Where do you think this guy’s going,” the detective asks.

John shrugs. “To get a late lunch maybe,” he says looking down at his watch again. They follow a short distance behind him, careful to stay far enough back that he won’t notice that he’s being tailed.

Harold’s voice sounds in John’s ear and he listens carefully. “Mr. Reese, I’ve done some more digging to see what else I could find out about our number. I discovered Mr. Vincent did have a sibling; a younger sister who it seems he was very close with.”

“What happened to her,” John asks picking up on Harold’s choice of words.

“She was killed a few months ago.”

“Did they catch the killer?”

“I suppose you could say they did, but she didn’t face any charges. His sister ingested some sort of house cleaning chemical,” Harold explains. “Rodger went to the police and told them that he suspected his mother poisoned his sister. There was an investigation but it was ruled an accident. It seems Mr. Vincent has been fighting since then to ensure that his mother is brought to justice. He’s been harassing the police with reports against the woman and the judge who released his mother has received a number of emails containing threats of violence since the charges against Mr. Vincent’s mother were dropped; each of the emails sites the murder of his sister, and I believe Mr. Vincent may have sent them.”

“You think he might go after the judge,” John asks.

“No,” Harold says. “The threats weren’t directed at the judge. It’s his mother I believe he may go after. The emails sent to the judge threatened that if he doesn’t ensure that Mr. Vincent’s mother is brought to justice, then the sender will take care of her himself.”

John’s quiet for a few seconds, letting it all sink in and thinking it over. “Was there any evidence that his sister’s death wasn’t just an accident,” he asks eventually.

“No. But sixteen year olds don’t typically accidentally ingest house cleaning chemicals, Mr. Reese. And it would seem that Mrs. Vincent has a history of violence against both of her children. There are a number of reports on file with Child Protective Services, but it would appear that they never followed through with investigating any of the reports. I think it’s safe to say that Mr. Vincent’s implication of his mother in his sister’s death is likely not without merit.”

Fusco pulls his car to a stop when Rodger turns into a small neighborhood and pulls into a driveway. “What’s his mother’s address, Finch,” John asks and he looks back at the street sign as Harold reads the address off to him. “I think he may be making his move now.” John pushes his door open and gets out of the car. “Stay here,” he tells Lionel before he draws his gun and breaks into a run when the front door opens and Rodger forces his way into his mother’s house, hand buried in his right coat pocket. Reese puts his hand on the door before the woman has a chance to close it.

“Excuse me,” she says and glares at John. “Who the hell are you and what do you think you’re doing in my house?”

John reaches for his badge. “Detective Riley,” he says.

The woman scoffs. “If this has anything to do with the death of my daughter than I promise I will press charges against you for harassment, Detective. The charges against me were dropped. There’s no need to continue harassing me and prying into my life.” She turns to her son. “I suppose you’re responsible for bringing the police here yet again,” she says. She doesn’t notice the gun her son points at her until after the words tumble out of her mouth. “What the hell do you think you’re doing,” she asks her son when she finally notices the weapon he points at her, a mixture of anger and fear in her voice.

Rodger’s eyes shift between his mother, John, and the gun he holds. He isn’t sure what to do or say, caught between a rock and a hard place. “You should leave,” he manages to say, eyes settling on John. “Just go.”

“I can’t do that,” John says pushing past the man’s mother, putting himself between her and the gun. “Just put the gun down and we can talk about this.”

Rodger shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says, eyes filling with tears. “She got away with abusing my sister and me for years. When we were in school, our teachers would ask about the bruises we had,” he tells John. “They called the police, they called CPS, but the people who were supposed to protect us didn’t care enough to put a stop to it. They never even bothered to investigate, never did a damn thing, because they didn’t give a damn.” Rodger reaches into his left coat pocket and pulls out a detonator. “Because of them and because of my mother, my sister is dead. I can’t let them get away with their neglect and I can’t let my mother get away with murder.”

John eyes the detonator for a second before he looks back into Rodger’s eyes. “Finch, we have a problem,” he says quietly.

“If it’s about a bomb at a local CPS office in the area, Mr. Reese, I just read the last email Mr. Vincent sent to the judge who dropped the charges against his mother and I already know. I’m certain I don’t need to tell you how imperative it is that you manage to talk Mr. Vincent down. If he did in fact plant a bomb of some kind in that building, then there are a lot more lives at stake here than just his mother’s and the lives of the CPS workers who failed to investigate the reports against his mother. I’ll alert the local authorities so they can evacuate the building and disarm the bomb. Hold him off as long as you can if you can’t get him to change his mind.”

“Rodger, you don’t want to do this,” John tells the man, holding out his hand for the detonator and aiming his gun at him.

“Yes I do,” Rodger insists, thumb lingering over the button of the detonator and finger over the trigger of the gun in his other hand. He stares past John, eyes boring into his mother. “Please, just leave. I don’t want to hurt you, Detective, but I will if I have to,” he says, gaze shifting to John for a moment.

“I don’t want to hurt you either,” John says. “But if you pull that trigger or set off the bomb you planted, I won’t have a choice. Put the gun down and give me the detonator.”

Rodger shakes his head, fighting back more tears. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill her and the people who let her hurt us, the people who let her kill my sister. Threatening me isn’t good enough. I don’t care about my own life anymore. I lost my only reason for living when that bitch poisoned and killed my sister.”

John stares at Rodger intently and swallows hard, searching his mind for the right words to convince the man that this isn’t the right way to get the justice he seeks. “If you set off that bomb, you become a murderer just like your mother. There are other people in that office, people who aren’t responsible for the neglect on the part of CPS. Do you want to be responsible for the deaths of several innocent people in that office, people there looking for support, filing complaints of their own, people who may very well be just like you and your sister?”

Tears roll down Rodger’s cheeks and he holds back sobs and shakes his head. “No,” he whispers. He lowers his gun and lets his head fall.

John holsters his gun and steps forward, grabbing the detonator out of Rodger’s hand, leaving the man’s mother exposed. Rodger looks back up at the woman and takes advantage of the clear shot he has at her, raising his gun again and pulling the trigger before John has a chance to stop him. The bullet tears through the woman’s chest and Rodger lets the gun fall to the floor, watching as his mother drops to her knees, life fading from her eyes as she struggles to take her last few breaths.

Fusco stands in the doorway, gun drawn as he takes in the scene before him. His eyes rest on the young man standing in the middle of the living room, staring down at his mother’s lifeless form with dark eyes, no sign of remorse. The detective holsters his gun and takes the detonator from John so he can slap a pair of handcuffs on Rodger.  

Sirens ring out and several police cars come to a screeching halt in front of the house. John walks Rodger out of the house and loads him into the back of one of the cruisers. “Mr. Reese,” he hears Harold’s voice in his ear. “What’s going on?”

“I convinced him to give up the detonator, Finch. But he shot his mother.” John looks back toward the house, watching a couple paramedics roll the woman’s body, covered with a thin white sheet, out of the house. He wonders if he should feel bad about the woman’s death, but he can’t help but feel, deep down, that she deserved what she got. John turns away and walks back to Lionel’s car, sliding into the passenger seat. “Let’s get back to the precinct,” he says. Fusco nods and starts the engine and turns the car around, both of them anxious to get far away from the scene so they can put it out of their minds.

               


	25. A Perfect Union

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, here is a list of the music I listened to while working on this chapter: You by Fisher, Love is the Thing by Nat King Cole, The Way You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra, Photograph by Twenty-One Two, No Other Love by Jo Stafford, My Wish by Rascal Flatts, Dancing in the Dark by Ruth Moody Band, Dance me to the End of Love by The Civil Wars, and If You go Away by Neil Diamond.
> 
> Also, there are only two more chapters left for this fic. I'm hoping to have the final chapter done to be posted on Christmas :)  
> And, I want to thank everybody again for all the kudos and positive feedback. Nothing has inspired me more while working on this fic than hopping on AO3 and finding that I've received more kudos or a comment on this fic, so thank you all so much :) <3

The three and a half weeks leading up to the wedding pass quickly and the team, and a few friends, arrive at the Angel Orensanz Center on the cold Sunday afternoon one week before Christmas. Shaw stands at the altar, bathed in soft purple light, waiting for Harold to walk Root to the altar the way John did with Shaw only minutes before. Her eyes wander over the small group of people sitting in the large room. Elias stands at the back with a smile on his face. Harper, Tomas, Joey, and Logan sit in the second row of seats behind those the two women have grown closest to over the last few years. The ex-operative’s gaze falls on Gen, sitting beside John and Zoe in the front row, Grace on her opposite side followed by an empty chair for Harold and then Fusco. Gen smiles up at her and the girl’s grin helps to ease some of Shaw’s nerves as she waits.

Root and Harold appear at the back of the room and slowly make their way forward, Root dressed in a traditional white wedding gown. Her eyes fall on Shaw and she fights to keep her jaw from hitting the floor when she sees the ex-operative in her simple black dress; simple yet still so beautiful and so breath taking on the woman. She smiles as she takes her place beside Shaw in front of the Justice of the Peace officiating the wedding, tears already forming in her eyes.

Harold takes his seat between Grace and Fusco and they all watch quietly as the ceremony begins. The Justice of the Peace begins reading from the small book he carries, looking first to Shaw, then Root, and then the others. “Friends and family of Samantha and Sameen, welcome and thank you for being here on this special and important day. We are gathered here today to celebrate the love and bond shared between these two women, by joining them in marriage. This is an opportunity for us to share not only in the joy of Samantha and Sameen’s love, but also to reaffirm and appreciate the love and the friendship we each experience in our own lives. Samantha and Sameen, your marriage today is the public and legal joining of your souls that have already been united as one in your hearts. A marriage is a conscious act of will. It will expand you as individuals, define you as a couple, and deepen your love for one another. A martial commitment includes the willingness to be open and vulnerable,” the justice pauses for a moment, eyes lingering on Shaw before he gazes at Root and continues, “and the courage to take risks. To be successful, we must continually renew our will to be married. You will need strength, courage, patience, and often a really good sense of humor.” He pauses again and everyone smiles and lets out a small chuckle. “Marital partners accept the challenges that living together in love offers. They decide that they will face the fears that are a necessary part of establishing and nurturing an intimate relationship. Marriage consists of entrusting our deepest selves into the loving care of one another. It is a public and legal act, but it is also a spiritual and emotional act. Let your marriage be a time of waking each morning and falling in love with each other all over again.”

Grace wipes tears from her eyes with her hand and Zoe fishes around in her purse for a small package of tissues that she shares with the woman. Harold and Fusco both grab a few before the package is handed back to the others and Harper quickly grabs the package, dabbing at her eyes with the tissues she pulls out. John glances at Fusco with a raised eyebrow, catching the detective wipe tears from his own eyes, and Fusco gives him a warning glance, daring him to say something about his open display of emotion.

The Justice turns to Sameen with a smile. “At this time, can the ring bearer please step forward?” Fusco stands and carries the rings to the two women. “Sameen, with this ring, do you take Samantha to be your legally wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, so long as you both shall live?”

Shaw takes Root’s hands into her own, looking deep into the woman’s beautiful brown eyes, before she speaks. “Samantha, with this ring, I do take you to be my lawfully wedded wife. Before these witnesses, I vow to love you and care for you, as long as we both shall live.” She takes one of the rings and slides it onto Root’s finger.  A smile spreads across her lips and she’s surprised by how easy it was to speak the words.

“And with this ring, do you, Samantha, take Sameen to be your legally wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, so long as you both shall live,” the Justice asks turning to Root.

A smile spreads across Root’s lips as she speaks. “Sameen, with this ring, I do take you to be my lawfully wedded wife. Before these witnesses, I vow to love you and care for you, as long as we both shall live,” she says and slides the remaining ring onto Shaw’s finger. Her smile widens and a few joyous tears slip down her cheeks. Shaw holds back her own tears and reaches up to wipe away the ones that fall from Root’s eyes.

“Samantha and Sameen, you have heard my words about love and marriage and you have exchanged your vows, made your promises to one another, and celebrated your union with the giving and receiving of rings. And so, with the power vested within me by the state of New York, and with the love of friends and family that honor and support this loving relationship, I now pronounce you legally married. You may now kiss,” the Justice says with a smile.

Shaw pulls Root into her and kisses her passionately. Fusco requests more tissues and the others quietly and lovingly laugh at him. John makes a mental note to tease him about it later, assuming he manages to hold back his own happy tears that sting his eyes. Zoe takes John’s hand and smiles at him and they share a quick a kiss. Grace smiles at Harold and rests her head on his shoulder, anxious for their chance to stand where Root and Shaw are now. Gen sits in her chair, a beaming smile on her face as she looks at Root and Shaw and glances at the others, the joyful mood of everyone around her rubbing off on the young girl.

 

 

*~*~*

 

Root and Shaw sit at a table beside each other with the rest of their small group. An announcement is made for a very special dance and the band begins to play Nat King Cole’s Love is the Thing. Harold smiles, remembering the last time he heard the song at another wedding he, John, and Root attended not too long ago in an attempt to save a number. He knows the song must have been chosen by Root and he pushes himself out of his chair and offers a hand to the woman. “I commend your choice of song,” he says to her. “And I was hoping you might grant me the honor of having this dance.” A smile spreads across Root’s face and she takes his hand, allowing him to lead her out onto the dance floor.

The others watch the two of them dance for a few seconds before John gets up and offers his hand to Shaw. She stares at the hand with a raised eyebrow for a moment before she finally takes it and lets him lead her out onto the dance floor. They dance slowly as the others watch the four of them with tears in their eyes and smiles on their faces. Even Shaw can’t hold back the smile that slowly begins to form on her lips. She pulls John into a hug as they dance, grateful to have him and the others; grateful for their little family of misfits.

“What does it matter if we’re rich or we’re poor,” the lead vocalist of the band sings. They may not have all the money in the world, but Shaw feels like they’re all still rich nonetheless. The wealth they share extends far beyond that of money and, she has come to realize, is far more valuable. It took her a long time to realize that and to accept it, but she’s glad she finally has.

“Seems you do belong at a wedding after all, Root,” Harold says as he and Root dance.

“Thankfully, this one is lacking the family politics and overcooked meat,” Root says with a quiet laugh.

“What about the monogamy?”

Root glances in Shaw’s direction, the smile still spread across her lips widening. “I think I can live with the monogamy,” she says and it’s Harold’s turn to laugh quietly.

The song fades and the band quickly starts to play Frank Sinatra’s The Way You Look Tonight and John steps away, giving Harold a chance to dance with Shaw. He smiles at Root and takes the opportunity to dance with her. She takes his offered hand and lets him twirl her around as they dance. “You look beautiful,” he tells her and she thanks him. They’re both quiet for a minute before John speaks again. “I don’t know how, but it’s like you managed to change her somehow.”

Root shakes her head. “I didn’t change her, John. She simply decided to stop hiding. She changed herself. And she’s still our good old Shaw, just… a little more willing to admit and display the things she’s feeling, at least sometimes.” She glances toward the woman, smile growing again.

John thinks about the woman’s words for a minute before he nods. “Take good care of her,” he says.

“You know I will,” Root replies.

“I believe congratulations are in order,” Harold says as he dances with Shaw. “You’ve come a long way,” he says. “We all have.”

“I have you partly to thank for that,” Shaw says. She wonders where she’d be now if it weren’t for him and John. She thinks about the night they saved her after Hersh was sent to kill her. Were it not for them, she’d have been six feet under a long time ago. Her eyes fall on Root for a moment. She has her to thank as well. Were it not for Root, she likely would have spent the rest of her life continuing to crawl back into her shell at the first sign of emotion. She believes that if not for Root, she never would have discovered what it feels like to love. “Thank you,” she says eventually, turning back to Harold “For everything.”

Harold smiles and pulls Shaw into a tight embrace, that she reluctantly accepts and returns, as the song comes to an end. All four of them make their way back to the table and sit down while the band takes a short break. They all drink and laugh, sharing the memories they’ve all made together, and Shaw happily eats her second piece of cake.

When the band takes the small stage again, they announce that it’s time for a special dance for the two women and begin playing Ed Sheeran’s Photograph at Shaw’s request. The ex-operative pushes herself up from her chair and offers Root a hand, pulling her new wife up from her chair. They make their way out onto the dance floor, soft blue light shinning down on them, and a smile spreads across Root’s lips as Shaw wraps her arms around the woman and they dance slowly, swaying back and forth. Happy tears well in Root’s eyes and she rests her head on Shaw’s shoulder as they dance. The day has been perfect, a dream come true for Root. Shaw’s given her more than she ever expected, more than she ever even thought to ask for.

Shaw holds Root close. She never dreamed she’d ever be here, in this position, in love and now married. She thinks about the last few years, since finding Harold and John… or since they found her. She thinks about her first encounter with Root and smiles and laughs quietly. Back then, she certainly never thought she’d end up here. She thinks about a conversation she had in the past; telling John she didn’t do relationships. _“Relationships are for amateurs. I go out, have a fun night, or three, and then I move on; no muss, no fuss,”_ she’d told him. And now here she was, making a commitment she never imagined herself making. She remembers Gen telling her about the voices being there, how the volume was just turned down real low and how she just needed to listen. Thanks to Root, she learned how to turn the volume up, learned how to listen. For a brief time she regretted it, but now she’s glad she learned to listen and figured out how to turn the volume up.

 So much has changed since then and Shaw tries to pinpoint exactly when the changes started. She thinks about the Stock Exchange and wonders if that was when things really started to change, or if maybe it was before that, maybe the night at the CIA pick-up site after Root kidnapped her for a mission the Machine tasked her with. The only thing she knows for certain is that thinking she had lost Root is what awakened her to the change. You only get so many chances in life, she wasn’t about to let this one slip by her like she had so many others.

Root has noticed the changes too, though she’s less concerned with when exactly it all started. All that matters to her is the here and now. They’ve all come so far over the last few years, especially her and Shaw; the two of them have undoubtedly changed the most since joining the little family they’ve all formed together.

Shaw’s voice interrupts her thoughts and she lifts her head off the ex-operative’s shoulder. “Remember when we were at the safe house, before we finally took down Samaritan, right after I got back,” Shaw asks and Root nods. “I asked if you ever wished we could go back and start over and if any of us had the life we truly wanted.” Root nods again, the memory clear in her mind. “At that point, I thought maybe I did want to go back and start over. But I was wrong,” she says. “I wouldn’t go back; I wouldn’t change this for anything, and now I realize that, deep down, this is exactly what I wanted, what I needed. We’ve been through so much, so many bad things have happened, and we’ve all lost so much,” Shaw falls quiet for a second and glances at the floor as they continue to sway with the music. “I thought I lost you, but then I got you back and I knew I couldn’t ever let you go again. The rest of it doesn’t matter; the whole world could burn to the ground around us, it doesn’t matter as long as we have each other.”

Root’s smile widens and Shaw grins. “You know that smile of yours could launch a thousand ships and burn Rome straight to the ground,” the ex-operative says.

“I know,” Root says with a quiet laugh. They both smile, getting lost in each other’s eyes for a moment before the song comes to an end and they share a deep, lasting kiss.

The band plays a cover of No Other Love and Grace and Harold join Root and Shaw on the dance floor. Zoe looks at John and smiles and he takes the hint, getting up once again and offering her his hand. They follow Harold and Grace and dance slowly, Zoe with her head on John’s shoulder. Before long, Logan gets up and offers a hand to Harper. She’s a little surprised by the gesture but she accepts it with a smile, leaving Elias, Fusco, Joey, and Tomas behind to contently watch the rest of them dance.

Gen smiles as she watches the others. She yawns after a few minutes and rests her arms on the table and her head on her arms, the music beginning to lull her to sleep after a long, though joyous, day. She’s had it tough, but things started to turn around when she met Shaw. She wasn’t thrilled with the school, though it could have been worse, but now, with Root and Shaw, she’s happier than she’s ever been and as her eyes begin to fall closed, she decides there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.

The song comes to an end and Root and Shaw both return to their seats, glancing and smiling at Gen, half asleep. Grace, John, Zoe, Harper, and Logan return to the table and Harold makes his way to the stage and whispers something to the lead vocalist who nods and relays the message to the rest of the band before stepping aside so Harold can take the mic. “Last time I was at a wedding I was asked to sing. I figured I’d give it another shot,” he says before the band begins to play the song he requests. He clears his throat before he begins singing as the band begins to play. “I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow,” he sings just a little off key, “and each road leads you where you wanna go. And if you’re faced with a choice, and you have to choose, I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.”

“Guess you can’t inquire about why Harold never sings to you now,” John says with a smirk, eyeing Root. She glances at him and laughs quietly, once again remembering the wedding the three of them crashed a couple short months ago. Tears form in her eyes as Harold continues singing and she rests her head on Shaw’s shoulder, letting happy tears roll down her cheeks.

 

*~*~*

 

The soft snow begins to fall harder as Shaw pulls into their driveway. She shuts the car off, temporarily depriving herself, Root, and Gen of heat, and looks up in the rearview mirror at Gen sleeping soundly in the back. She smiles and gets out of the car and pulls the sleeping girl out of the backseat. Gen stirs just enough to wrap her arms around Shaw’s neck and rest her head on the woman’s shoulder before drifting back off again, unconscious of the sudden sting of bitter cold air and wet snowflakes that tickle her nose and stick to her hair; oblivious that they’re finally home. Root unlocks the door and pushes it open, letting her new wife in with the sleeping girl before she steps in and closes and locks the door behind her.

The ex-operative carries the girl to her room, Root and Bear on her heels. She sets Gen on her bed and pulls the covers over the girl, running a gentle hand over the top of her head. Bear jumps up onto the bed and curls up beside the sleeping girl, contributing a little bit of extra heat, and Shaw laughs quietly and turns to head for the door.

Root leans against the doorframe, a smile on her face and her arms folded over her chest, watching Shaw. They step out of the room together and Shaw pulls the door partially closed, and they slip away to their own room. “What,” the ex-operative asks when she sees the smile still lingering on Root’s lips.

“I was just thinking,” Root says.

“About what,” Shaw asks as she collapses onto the bed, exhausted.

“How long before somebody comes looking for her?”

Shaw sits up and thinks about it for a minute before she shrugs. “Her father is God knows where and her mother is in prison. She was living with her grandfather until he died. Her cousin is a worthless junkie who didn’t seem to really give a damn about her. As far as I know, she doesn’t have anyone… except us.”

Root sits on the bed beside Shaw, taking one of the woman’s hands into her own. “Well, I was thinking maybe we should just officially adopt her.”

The ex-operative considers it for a minute. There have been a lot of changes recently; a lot of big steps have been taken. She’s found herself somewhere she never dreamed she’d ever be. It’s a lot to take in, but for the first time in a long time, maybe for the first time ever, Shaw is genuinely happy and Gen played a big role in helping her find that happiness. She looks up at Root and smiles and nods. Root’s smile grows and she pulls Shaw into her, kissing the ex-operative.

 

*~*~*

 

Zoe unlocks the door to her apartment and she and John slip inside. The fixer takes off for the bedroom and changes into something a bit more comfortable before she returns to the living room and settles on the couch. She looks up at John, standing nearby with his hand in his coat pocket, fidgeting with the small box that’s been hidden there for nearly a month. He’d once again intended to present the ring to Zoe earlier, but he got cold feet yet again. But he’s finally decided that he’s ready now, that they’re both ready to take a big step of their own.

He gets down on one knee in front of her, pulling the box out of his pocket. As doubts attempt to creep back in once more, Fusco’s words to him not too long ago replay in his head, _“she’s probably one of the few who could put up with you long term.”_ John knows the detective is likely right. Every other woman who’s been willing to put up with him, every woman he let get close, he’s let slip away; he can’t let Zoe slip away too. The thought makes all of his remaining reservations fade away. “I didn’t realize it until recently, but you’re one of the few people who seems to be willing and able to put up with me,” he says as he opens the box. “It’s taken me a while to work up the courage to say it, but I love you.” He takes a deep breath before he goes on, looking up at the woman. “Zoe Morgan, will you marry me, for real this time?”

Zoe stares at him in shock. She never expected this and certainly not so soon. Tears sting her eyes and it takes her a minute but eventually she nods. “Yes,” she says and John slips the ring onto her finger. He looks deep into her eyes with a smile and presses his lips to hers. When they separate, he pulls her up from the couch and leads her off the bedroom, eager to celebrate the love they share and the commitment they’re both prepared to make to each other.

 

*~*~*

 

Harold and Grace stand outside their apartment, watching the snow that falls over the city. Grace takes his hand and smiles at him. She shivers in the cold and Harold pulls her close, offering a little more warmth until they finally slip inside. Before they can slip away to the bedroom and curl up beneath warm covers, Grace turns the radio on and takes Harold into her arms. “I know you’re just as exhausted as I am,” she says with a smile. “But I was hoping we could share one more dance tonight.”

They dance to Neil Diamond, warmed by the embrace they share as they sway to the music. “If you go away on this summer day,” the soft, deep voice sings and Harold pulls Grace closer.

“I made a mistake when I left you,” Harold says as the song plays on and they dance. “I should have kept you by my side.” He falls quiet for a few seconds and then adds, “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Harold,” Grace tells him. “I understand why you did what you did. I’ve already forgiven you. All that matters now is that you came back to me and we’re together again.” Tears sting her eyes as past memories replay in her head and joy that she’s right back where she’s always wanted to be overwhelms her.

They dance in silence as Neil Diamond continues to sing, “but if you stay I’ll make you a night like no other night has been or will be again. I’ll sail on your smile, I’ll ride on your touch, I’ll talk to your eyes that I love so much.” When the song finally ends, Grace kisses Harold before she turns off the radio and they slip away to their bedroom, eager for a night of restful sleep.


	26. One More Number

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, here is a list of the songs I listened to while working on this chapter: Touched by Vast, Gun by Emiliana Torrini, Dance Hall Days by Wang Chung, and Only You by Yazoo.
> 
> Only one chapter left. It will be posted Christmas morning. :)

Root, Shaw, and John meet in the subway. Reese hands out weapons while Finch fills them in on the details of their new numbers. “Mr. and Mrs. Miller own a ranch on the outskirts of the city and it seems Mrs. Miller’s ex-fiancé has been frequenting the ranch over the couple months to harass Veronica and her husband. I don’t know what he might have planned, or if he’s the threat, but he applied for a gun permit a month ago and used it to purchase a firearm yesterday, and the Machine seems to think he may be headed to the Miller’s ranch as we speak. It will no doubt be a long drive out to the ranch, so I suggest you hurry,” Harold tells them.

The three of them make their way out of the subway and John gets into the passenger seat of Fusco’s car while Shaw slide into the driver’s seat and Root ducks into the passenger seat of their own car. The Machine gives Root directions and Shaw weaves through traffic, gas pedal pressed to the floor.

“Better pick up the pace, Lionel,” John says when they start to fall behind.

Fusco glances at him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re nuts if you think I’m going that fast, especially with ice on the roads,” he says as Root and Shaw disappear further into the distance. “She’s gonna end up killing someone driving like that.”

John smirks and laughs quietly, knowing that if anyone can handle them self behind the wheel, it’s Shaw.

               

Root and Shaw pull into the driveway of the Miller ranch almost an hour later. Shaw’s eyes fall on the front door of the small house on the property that looks like it’s been forced open and she draws the pistol at her side, stepping into the house. Gunshots ring out from somewhere outside and Root follows the sound, heading for the stables. She stops and takes a few steps back when the doors burst open and a woman on a horse takes off, followed closely by a man on another horse, kicking up snow as they gallop off toward the woods. He fires a shot at the woman and narrowly misses. Root makes her way into the stables and climbs onto one of the remaining horses.

Shaw rushes back out of the house, stopping when she sees her wife on the horse. Root brings the animal to a stop and offers a hand to the ex-operative. “Seriously,” Shaw says before she reluctantly takes Root’s hand and lets the woman pull her up onto the horse and they take off. Shaw presses a finger to her ear, turning on her com so she can give John an update as he and Lionel pull into the driveway. “Our perpetrator and one of our victims took off on horses, Reese. I checked the house and there’s no sign of the husband.”

“Lionel and I will check the house again. Meet us back here when you’re done dealing with the wife and her ex,” John responds.  

They manage to catch up to Veronica and her ex-fiancé a couple minutes later and Shaw aims her gun at the man in front of them, timing her shot just right before she pulls the trigger. The bullet hits the man’s right shoulder blade and he tumbles off the horse, hitting the ground hard and reeling in pain.

Root brings their horse to a stop and hops off, followed by Shaw. The ex-operative makes her way toward their perpetrator, kicking his gun out of his hand before he has a chance to aim it and take a shot.

Veronica glances over her shoulder before she loops her horse back around, stopping beside the others. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I guess I owe you a thank you,” she says.

“You shouldn’t thank them yet,” her ex says, grinning up at them despite his pain.

Shaw glares down at him, leaning down and forcing him to sit up. “What the hell is that supposed to mean,” she demands.

Veronica puts the pieces together before her ex has a chance to say anything. “My husband,” she tells the two women. “He never came home last night.”

“Where is he,” Shaw asks, pressing her gun to the man’s head.

“Go ahead,” he says as she pulls the hammer back. “Shoot me again and you’ll never find him.”

Shaw raises and eyebrow and grabs his shoulder, shoving a finger into the bullet hole in his back and making him cry out in pain. “Tell us where the hell he is or death will be the least of your worries,” she threatens and sticks her finger deeper into the wound.

“I’m not telling you anything,” he spits at Shaw. “I’ll only talk to Veronica; alone,” he adds.

Shaw looks between him and Veronica, noting the fear in the woman’s eyes. “Not happening.”

“Why are you doing this, William,” the woman asks taking a step in his direction. “Just tell us where my husband is. What have you done with him?”

“You know why I’m doing this. You left me for him, left me standing at the altar and ran off with him because he had more money than I did. I loved you, Veronica,” the man insists. “And you betrayed me.”

“I didn’t leave you because of Paul’s money. I left you because the morning of our wedding I found out that you were involved with some gang, that you were a thief and murderer.” Veronica shakes her head, looking away from the man for a moment before turning her gaze back on him. “If kidnapping my husband and trying to kill me is your idea of a reasonable response to my leaving you, then I guess that just proves that I did the right thing. You’re a fucking psycho.”

William glares at Veronica, anger radiating off every inch of him. His eyes wander to the gun Shaw still holds to his head and he moves to grab it. Shaw digs her finger into his shoulder again before kicking him to the ground. “Where is Paul,” she demands, foot pressed hard against the man’s chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.

“He’s on a boat in the New York harbor. Better hurry. It’s rigged to blow in less than an hour,” he says between gasps for air.

“Did you get that, John,” Shaw asks and Reese confirms that he heard every word and that he and Fusco are already on the way. Shaw lifts her foot off the man’s chest and moves to pull him up from the ground. He makes another go for her weapon, yanking it out of her hand.

Root pulls her gun and fires two shots into William’s chest before he gets a chance to make use of the weapon he swiped. He crumbles back to the ground, final breaths slipping between his lips. The three women stare down at the body for a moment before they get back on the horses and head back toward the ranch, leaving William’s body behind in the cold snow.

Harold’s voice sounds in Root and Shaw’s ears. “What’s going on,” he asks.

“We took care of the perpetrator,” Root tells him. “Veronica is safe but her ex kidnapped her husband last night. He told us he left him on a boat in the harbor that he said is rigged to blow in less than an hour. John and Lionel are on their way to find him.”

The two women offer to stay with Veronica until John and Lionel get back with her husband but she declines. They watch as she slowly shuffles into the house before they return to their car. “I didn’t know you knew how to ride a horse,” Shaw says eyeing Root.

“Just one of my many hidden talents,” Root says with a grin.

“Kind of hot,” Shaw says with a smile.

“Yeah?”

Shaw nods and Root’s smile widens as she stares at the ex-operative for a few seconds with hungry eyes before she moves in to kiss Shaw.

 

*~*~*

 

Harold stops typing on his computer when he hears strange noises over his com. It only takes him a few seconds to realize what the noises are and his eyes grow wide. “I can still hear you both,” he says quickly.

Shaw swears, embarrassed, and he hears an amused chuckle from Root before John’s voice sounds over the com. “Can I get you guys anything,” he asks. “Some snacks, drinks, a dental dam,” he jokes, making it clear that he could still hear them as well.

“I swear to God, Reese,” Shaw says through clenched teeth and Root laughs again, still amused.

“I know, I know, you’ll shoot me,” John says with a smirk and glances at Fusco who gives him a curious look before he decides he’d rather not know.

Root and Shaw both turn their coms off before Harold asks John about their second number. “Any progress on finding Mr. Miller,” he asks.

“We just got to the harbor, Finch. Any chance you can lend us a hand in narrowing down which boat we should search,” he asks eyeing the dozens of boats docked in the harbor.

Harold types something into his computer before he responds. “There’s a Bavaria Nautitech in William’s name. It seems it’s a recent purchase. I’m sending a picture to your phone,” he tells John.

Reese looks down at the picture on his phone and shows it to Fusco. “We should split up,” he tells the detective and Fusco nods in agreement. They head in separate directions and John spots the boat after a minute or two. He glances down at his watch and breaks into a run, heading into the boat’s cabin. He spots their second number, tied up and blindfolded. The beeping of the bomb catches his attention and he eyes the device set up nearby, quickly counting down from thirty seconds. John pulls his knife out of his back pocket and quickly cuts through the rope binding Paul’s wrists and ankles, and tears the blindfold from the man’s eyes. “We need to go now,” he says.

Paul glances at the bomb, watching as the last 15 seconds quickly tick away. They both run out of the cabin and leap off the boat, landing in icy water as the bomb goes off, sending a ball of fire into the air.

“Mr. Reese,” Harold says when he hears the explosion over the com. “Are you alright?”

John surfaces, wiping water from his eyes and looking around for their number before he answers Harold. “We’re fine Finch,” he says and looks back at what’s left of the boat and several docked near it, watching as flames burn through fiberglass. He swims toward the dock, pulling himself up out of the frigid water before offering a hand to Paul and pulling him up onto the dock. The man shivers and a couple paramedics rush out to meet them, offering them both a blanket. The paramedics are followed close behind by firefighters who quickly get the fire on what’s left of the boats under control. John turns down the blanket offered to him and turns to head toward Lionel.

“Hey,” Paul calls to him and John turns to look at him, waiting for him to go on. “Whoever you are, thank you,” he says.

John smiles and nods before he turns back to Lionel. “Let’s get back to the precinct,” he says.

Fusco stares at John wide eyed for a second before he finally follows him back toward the car. “It never fails with you Loony Toons; always either getting shot at or nearly blown up.” He shakes his head. “You’re all crazy, you know that?”

John smirks as he slides into the passenger seat. “You should be used to it by now, Lionel,” he says as the detective gets in the driver’s seat.

Fusco shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever be used to it,” he says and starts the car, heading back to the precinct.

 

*~*~*

 

Root hears Harold’s voice in her ear when they’re on their way home. “I was hoping you might stop back at the subway before you and Shaw go home,” he requests. “I have something I’d like to give you. I realize it’s a couple days late, but I have a belated wedding gift for you.”

“What does Finch want,” Shaw asks when she glances at Root and catches her listening intently to the voice in her ear. “Please tell me we don’t have another number already.”

“He wants us to stop by the subway before we go home; says he has something for us,” Root tells the ex-operative.

Shaw lets out a deep sigh, still embarrassed and not certain she’s ready to face Harold after he overheard and interrupted their fun earlier. She reluctantly turns the car around, speeding through traffic and squinting to see through the snow that begins to fall harder. They head down to the platform together and Harold cracks a rare smile before he hands a wrapped box to Root. She eyes him carefully for a moment before she pulls the wrapping paper away and laughs at the gift.

“I figured it was finally time I went and got you that blender,” Finch jokes.

Shaw looks between the two of them with a raised eyebrow. “Do I want to know,” she asks.

“It’s a long story,” Root says with a smile and another laugh. She hands the box off to the ex-operative and turns back to Harold. “I didn’t know you had it in you to be a smartass, Harry,” she says and the comment makes him laugh. Root pulls him into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” she says and kisses his cheek before pulling away and heading back to the car with Shaw.

When they finally get home, Shaw heads for the kitchen while Root turns on the stereo in the living room. She dances alone to Dance Hall Days until Shaw wanders back in with a beer. The ex-operative watches her wife for a second with a grin and a raised eyebrow. “I take it dancing is another one of your many hidden talents,” she says. Root smiles and motions for Shaw to join her.

The ex-operative shakes her head and Root pouts. “I told you, those puppy dog eyes don’t work on me,” she insists and Root grins, taking the beer out of Shaw’s hand and setting it aside before pulling her in to dance. Shaw groans but a smile quickly forms on her lips as they dance together, the ex-operative doing her best to match Root’s movements as they dance around the living room.

Gen hears the music and she slips out of her room, smiling when she sees the two women. She runs back to her room to grab her cell phone and records the two of them. Shaw hears the girl giggling when the song begins to fade out. “I know you are not recording,” she says and Gen’s smile widens and she takes off for her room. “You better delete that,” she calls and Root laughs and pulls Shaw in, wrapping her arms around the ex-operative’s neck and kissing her before she has a chance to chase after the girl.

The ex-operative forgets about the video as she pulls Root close and lifts the woman into her arms, carrying her off to their bedroom before she has a chance to decide that they should slow dance to Yazoo’s Only You that blares through the speakers. She sets Root down on the bed and quickly closes the door before returning to Root. Her eyes wander over the woman sitting on the edge of the bed looking up at her and a smile spreads across Shaw’s lip before she kisses the woman again and they urgently begin to peel away the fabric between them, the music playing in the living room traveling through the house and still penetrating their ears.

                               

 


	27. Precious Moments, Special People, Happy Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, I listened to Somewhere in My Memory by The City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra while working on this chapter.
> 
> This is the last chapter. Thank you all again for all the kudos and feedback. When I first started working on this fic I was super nervous about sharing it and worried it would be complete crap. I never would have made it to the end if it weren't for all the positive feedback I've gotten. So thank you all soooooo much. There will be more fics to come, possibly even another for Person of Interest :) <3 
> 
> I hope you all have/had a great holiday (or just a great day) and if you're feeling a bit down, I hope this chapter helps to cheer you up a bit :)

Root, Shaw, and Gen spend the last few days before Christmas decorating the house. They let Gen pick out a tree and they spend Christmas Eve wrapping lights around it and hanging ornaments on the branches while they listen to music that helps to put even Shaw in a cheery holiday mood. Once they finally manage to convince Gen to go to bed, Root and Shaw spend the rest of the evening wrapping a few gifts and placing them under the tree: A few things for Gen and a couple new toys for Bear. They admire the work they’ve done for a moment before they’re ready to head off to bed themselves. Root stops on the way to the bedroom, looking back over her shoulder at the tree with a smile on her face as she thinks about where they all started and how far they’ve all come together. Happy tears well in her eyes and a few manage to slip down her cheeks.

Shaw stops and turns back to Root, watching for a second as the tears fall. “What is it,” she asks returning to the woman’s side.

“I never thought I’d ever end up here,” Root tells her. “A few years ago I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with a morally ambiguous job as a killer for hire. I never imagined ever falling in love, or getting married, or starting any sort of family. I figured I’d always be on my own. But then I found Harry, and John,” she smiles at Shaw, “and you. And I found a life I never dreamed I’d ever have.” She looks deep into Shaw’s eyes, her smile growing, and places a hand on the ex-operative’s cheek. “I got more than I ever could have wanted,” she says. Her eyes shift up to the mistletoe hung above their heads and then she looks back at Shaw and pulls her in for a kiss.

 

Gen is up early on Christmas morning. She isn’t expecting to find the small bunch of presents wrapped under the tree, but the sight brings an excited smile to her face. She looks out the window for a few minutes, watching as snow falls, adding to the few feet of cold, soft, white fluff that already covers the ground, and then she takes off for Root and Shaw’s bedroom. She knocks gently on the door that’s cracked open before Bear walks up beside her and pushes the door further open with his nose. The girl sticks her head in before she pushes the door open the rest of the way. She steps into the room and hops up onto the bed. “Wake up,” she says bouncing up and down a bit in hopes it will make Root and Shaw wake up. “It’s Christmas morning; time to get up,” she insists shaking Root and then Shaw.

Root’s eyes flutter open and she smiles up at the excited girl. Shaw groans beside her and turns over, desperate for more sleep. “One more hour,” she mutters and both Root and Gen laugh quietly before Root finally rolls out of bed and shuffles out to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

“You have to get up,” Gen insists, flopping down on the bed beside the ex-operative. Bear wanders to Shaw’s side of the bed and licks her face and she groans again, finally pushing herself out of the bed to wander into the kitchen.

The ex-operative sits at the table, patiently waiting for the caffeine she craves. Root places a cup of black coffee in front of Shaw when it’s finally done and the ex-operative looks up at her gratefully. They finish off the pot of coffee and Gen eats a bowl of cereal before they all wander into the living room. Root turns the stereo on and then she sits on the couch beside Shaw watching as Gen sits on the floor beside the tree and starts tearing the presents open. Her already bright smile widens even more when she gets to the last couple gifts. She opens a box and finds a snow globe inside, a fox and a black panther, huddled close and bundled up in front of a snow covered pine tree, inside the globe. She shakes the globe and watches the tiny white particles drift around and settle back on the bottom like snow, and then she smiles up at Root and Shaw and then looks back at the snow globe, deciding it’s her favorite for the time being.

Gen sets the snow globe down beside her and reaches for the last box, tearing away the wrapping paper to expose a small box from a department store. She lifts the cover away and finds a few papers inside. She glances at Root and Shaw again, both of them smiling back at her, and then she carefully reads over the papers, already signed, stating that Root and Shaw will be officially adopting her. Gen pushes herself up off the floor and runs to them, throwing her arms around both of them. “Thanks, moms,” she says, a bright smile still spread across her face.

Root and Shaw both smile and hug her back, Root with joyful tears in her eyes. Bear paws at and chews on the toys left under the tree for him. He stops for a moment, looking up at the others before he makes his way toward them, hopping up on the couch and forcing his way into their little group hug. “I love you,” Gen says after a few seconds and Root and Shaw smile at the girl and each other.

“We love you too,” Root says, ruffling the girl’s hair a bit and smiling as she lets her joyful tears slip down her cheeks.

 

Harold, Grace, John, Zoe, and Elias arrive at Root and Shaw’s house in the middle of the afternoon. They sit in the living room and pass around gifts for one another while they sing along with the Christmas songs still playing on the stereo, and share a few happy memories. Zoe pulls Root aside when she gets a chance and tells the woman that she’s pregnant and that she and John are planning to surprise Harold and Grace with the news. Root congratulates the woman and fills her on her and Shaw’s decision to adopt Gen and they agree to share the happy news they both have at the same time.

 There’s a wide grin on Root’s face when the two women return to the living room. She looks between Gen and Shaw and John and Zoe, thinking about the news they have to share with Harold and Grace, excited to let them know that their little family is growing. Finch looks at her, noticing how elated she is and he isn’t sure whether he should be frightened by the grin on her face or just happy that it seems those he has come to consider his family are happier than it seems any of them have ever been. “Mrs. Groves,” he says still looking at Root, urging her to share whatever it is that has her beaming.

“We have one more gift for you and Grace,” Root tells him. “Or, I guess two more actually,” she pauses and enjoys the mildly shocked look on his face and when she’s decided he’s waited long enough she finally spills the beans. “You’re gonna be a grandpa, Harry,” she says.

Finch is a little confused for a moment and then it sinks in and he’s elated to know that they truly see him as family the same way he sees them. Something Root said what now feels like forever ago replays in his head, _“wouldn’t want papa Finch to worry too much,”_ she’d said after he’d spent a night fretting over John’s whereabouts when the man was too busy with his now fiancé to remember to check in after taking care of a number.

“Sameen and I have decided to officially adopt Gen,” Root tells him before she looks back at John and Zoe, anxious for them to share their own news.

“And Zoe is pregnant,” John says.

Harold turns to Grace and takes the woman’s hand into his own and they both smile, elated at the news. He tries to remember a time when he was as happy as he is now and he can’t recall one. His gaze wanders around the room, eyeing each of the others.

Root and Shaw sit beside each other on the floor, hand in hand and looking at each other with more love than he ever could have imagined seeing shared between two people. Gen sits in Shaw’s lap, holding on tight to her snow globe, half asleep with a smile on her face. He wonders if he might develop a cavity just from watching them.

John and Zoe sit on the sofa, smiling at each other for a moment before John’s glance falls to his fiancé’s stomach and he places a hand there. Finch can see the excitement in the man’s eyes and he never imagined John being a father, but now he can’t picture it any other way.

Elias sits in a chair, watching them all just like Harold is, with a big grin of his own. He’s happy to be able to call himself a part of their family and he’s elated that they’ve all finally got the chance to share a little time together and that they’ve finally got the chance to be happy.

The front door opens and Fusco wanders in dressed as Santa, his son close behind looking a little embarrassed but smiling nonetheless. “Sorry we’re late,” the detective says as he sets a bag on the floor, “but we come bearing gifts.” He hands out the presents he’s brought and accepts those given to him and his son with gratitude.

Harold never dreamed of them all being together like this and all so happy. A part of him wishes there was some way he could hit pause on life so they could all just stay right here in this moment, though he knows there will be plenty more moments like this to come. “Let’s all take a picture,” he says catching everyone’s attention. “All of us together.”

They all agree without hesitation and Harold sets up the camera as they position themselves in front of the Christmas tree. He sets the timer and joins them. Root and Shaw share a kiss and Gen smiles up at them; Fusco, in his Santa suit, stands with an arm around his son’s shoulders, both of them smiling; John stands beside Zoe, a hand on her stomach as he smiles down at the bump that’s just starting to form and Zoe’s smile widens when she sees the joy in her fiancé’s eyes; Harold holds Grace’s hand and the two of them smile into the camera along with Elias; Bear sits on his hind legs in front of them all and even he seems to smile as the flash goes off, capturing their perfect moment.


End file.
